Death Eater No More
by notwolf
Summary: If Severus died in the Shrieking Shack, where is his body? Find out what really happened to Snape and the Malfoys post-Deathly Hallows.
1. The Battle

Death Eater No More—Chapter One (The Battle)

(**Author's Note**: Although this story can stand alone, it will utilize unique characters I created in _I, Too, Shall Follow_. It will also draw on events and facts from that story and _The Beginnings of a Death Eater_. Let us begin.)

His blood and silvery blue memories draining from him, Severus Snape lay on the cold wooden floor of the Shrieking Shack, his hand clinging to Potter's robes as he prayed that the idiot boy would know what to do with them. He thought he saw Potter using his wand to move the memories into a flask, the first intelligent thing he could recall the boy ever doing.

Employing a gargantuan effort, he whispered to the boy, "Look…at…me."

The green eyes, Lily's eyes, looked into his, and for a moment Severus forgot it wasn't her. All the animosity, the frustration…the pain…vanished. Then, enfeebled from blood loss, Snape's hand fell back onto the floor, landing upon the wand he'd dropped earlier. Automatically his fingers curled around it, clenching it in his fist.

The horrid high voice of Lord Voldemort pierced the air, and what little blood was left in his veins caused his heart to leap. Harry jumped to his feet, understandably shaken, beside the Weasley and Granger brats. The three children stood like statues listening to the megalomaniac ramble on, then they rushed away.

_Damn you_, Severus wanted to shout after them, and would have if his torn throat would have allowed it. At least Hermione, the least dull of the three, could have tried her hand at healing him! Were they all actually thick enough to believe him dead? Then again, they were Gryffindorks; _thinking_ wasn't their strong suit.

With every bit of strength left in him, which was virtually none, Snape sluggishly lifted his wand, rested his arm across his chest, and aimed it at his throat. He clumsily scratched it over the surface of his neck while thinking the healing incantations. Once, twice, thrice he drew it across his neck, unable to see or feel exactly where it was needed. He did, however, feel the heartening sensation of wounds closing.

Panting from this small exertion, Severus dropped his hand to the floor with a 'clunk' as his knuckles struck the wood. With his other hand he ever so slowly reached into the pocket of his robe and fumbled around until his fingers grasped the bezoar he'd carried with him for no less than eighteen years; being a potions master—a paranoid one—had seen to that. Painstakingly slowly he raised it to his mouth, and although he didn't know how much venom Nagini had injected, it was always best to be prudent. It hurt like a rabid squirrel in his throat going down, but he forced it nonetheless. He was used to pain.

_"…Now listen closely, Severus. There will come a time—after my death—do not argue, do not interrupt! There will come a time when Lord Voldemort will seem to fear for the life of his snake."_

_"For Nagini?" Snape looked astonished._

_"Precisely. If there comes a time when Lord Voldemort stops sending that snake forth to do his bidding, but keeps it safe beside him under magical protection, then, I think, it will be safe to tell Harry."_

_"Tell him what?"_

Severus swallowed hard in his raw throat. His wand had healed the skin and blood vessels, yet another spell would be needed for inside—a potion, even better. A silent tear ran from his eye and rolled into his hair. Dumbledore had used him, had used Harry, and for what? This last, most important command to tell Harry, Severus had been unable to accomplish. If the fool boy didn't run to the pensieve and view those memories, it would all be for nothing. He wouldn't know that he _himself_ must die. Even if Potter somehow managed to pull another trick out of his ass and kill the dark lord, Harry—with Voldemort's soul—would survive. It wouldn't be over.

Too weak from blood loss to do anything but lay shivering in the sticky pool of his life's fluid, too weak even to meditate on the fate of the world if Harry failed to kill Voldemort…and himself…Severus closed his eyes and drifted into a dreamless unconsciousness.

It may have been hours, or only a few seconds, he had no way of knowing. Severus woke with a start and remembered where he was. He'd be damned if he was going to die here in this godforsaken shack, victim of the dark lord he'd fought for so long! His wand barely off the floor, he sent a heating charm around himself, then regrouped his strength for the next spell.

The doe patronus leapt from the end of his wand, stood as if awaiting instructions, and bounded out a broken window. It was all he could do; everything now rested on _her_. She wouldn't fail him.

He closed his eyes once more and slipped back into unconsciousness.

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"Here's a good place." Dolohov stopped in the middle of the Death Eater-beaten path, then strolled over to lean against a tree.

Yaxley followed him over with another quick glance up ahead into the darkness. "I'm kind of glad the master picked us to act as lookouts." The understanding flowing between them insured that he didn't need to add '_because the tension in camp is overwhelming and I don't want to be the one the dark lord chooses to torture when his patience snaps'._

"Yeah, me too," agreed Dolohov. "Although I doubt the jackal Potter will show up. The kid's a fool, but he's not suicidal."

"The dark lord thinks he'll come," Yaxley argued. "He's always right."

Dolohov held his tongue. He'd been a devoted follower of the evil wizard since he'd been a young man. More than forty years later he was still a devoted follower, a staunch believer in the cause of pureblood superiority, but a thirteen year hiatus in Azkaban, coupled with another year-long stay had dampened his enthusiasm a bit. He grunted an incoherent reply.

Yaxley, his cruel face twisted in a semblance of a smile, said, "I can't wait to drag his skinny arse to the master and watch the brat get what he's had coming for years."

"If you don't shut up, he'll hear us and run for the hills," hissed Dolohov.

"I thought you said you didn't think he'd show," taunted Yaxley.

Dolohov raised his wand in warning, baring his teeth. Though not truly intimidated by his friend, Yaxley knew him well enough to surmise Antonin just might hex him for the fun of it, or to shut him up, so he sniffed and threw himself back against a tree to wait. The Potter boy would be along soon, then this whole business would come to a head, the wizarding world would fall, and Lord Voldemort would reign in his rightful place.

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In the clearing of the Forbidden Forest, with remnants of a massive spider web hanging overhead, there was a lull in the troupe of Death Eaters as everyone strained forward, anxious to see if the Potter brat was finally dead. After years of being thwarted, Lord Voldemort had taken his opportunity and _avada kedavra_'d the boy, only to be knocked senseless himself at the same instant. When he at last regained consciousness, he'd waved away the Death Eaters hovering over him like irritating nurses pretending _he_, the greatest dark lord of all time, had needed their pitiful help. Even Bellatrix's solicitous manner made him want to lash out.

Lucius shivered though it was a warm night. His body battered from his latest beating and torture session at Voldemort's hands, he tried not to move too much while straining to see through his one eye that was not puffy and bruised. His heart leaped when the dark lord ordered Narcissa to check Potter. What if he wasn't dead? What if he caused harm to her as he'd apparently done to Lord Voldemort?

Narcissa knelt, bent over the lad, and snaked her hand inside his shirt. The hard thumping of his heart almost made her recoil as her stomach jumped into her mouth. It wasn't possible, _no one_ could survive the killing curse! But this was Harry Potter, the child who'd done in Lord Voldemort as a mere baby, who'd escaped death at the dark lord's hand several times since then. He was charmed, he was…not human?

In a split second decision, she laid her fate and that of her family at the feet of the indestructible boy. "Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?" she whispered in his ear.

"Yes," Harry whispered back. Her fingernails bit into his flesh as she squeezed, and then she let him go and sat up.

"He is dead!" she called out.

The Death Eaters erupted in cries of jubilation and of shooting their wands into the sky, lighting it like fireworks. Lucius sank back into the darkness, despair mingling with elation. The dark lord had won, Lucius and his family would be slaves to the lunatic forever…and he didn't even have a wand, no means of protection whatsoever. On the other hand, they would now storm the castle, secure in victory, allowing him to search for his son.

Even so, it sickened him to watch Voldemort toy with the boy's corpse while his companions laughed and jeered, to hear the giant sobbing over his dead little friend as he carried him at the head of the procession to Hogwarts. How easily that might have been Draco for failing in his task, and the bastards would have cheered in the same way.

It seemed endless, this march to the castle. If only he had Narcissa by his side, but Bellatrix was prodding her along right near the front with Voldemort. When at last they halted on school grounds, he'd hoped to go inside immediately, but no. The insanity of the dark lord knew no bounds, he had to posture and strut as he paraded Potter's body for the children and teachers defending the castle.

And where the hell was _Snape_? Lucius hadn't seen him since informing him that the master wished to see him. Had he been sent back into the castle by some hidden access route? Had he secured Draco safely away from the fighting to come?

As if he weren't antsy enough at being so close to Draco yet unable to reach him, an idiot boy came bumbling out to confront the master. Was he absolutely mad? He recognized the child…Longbottom…he knew the name from Bella's sadistic game with his parents. He'd heard all about it, much more than he cared to hear.

Lucius wasn't paying much mind to the argument between Neville and Voldemort, he was busy studying the people surrounding the castle, trying to figure the quickest, best way in, the path of least resistance. A flash of fire caught his eye and he did a doubletake. Had the dark lord decided to torment the boy by setting his head on fire? No, it was that hat, that stupid sorting hat.

Evidently the people in the mob took offense at his methods. All at once hundreds of people streamed from the castle shrieking like banshees. Where had they all come from? The Death Eaters in the earlier battle had reported a fairly small number remaining! From these faces he could tell that most were much older than students, likely family. And he recognized a few business owners from Hogsmeade. Blast it, they now had all of Hogsmeade as well as other reinforcements to fight! What if they'd already killed Draco?

A mini-giant came lumbering at them shouting, "Hagger!"

The two other giants attacked him and all hell broke loose. Suddenly the centaurs they'd passed in the forest were firing arrows at them; Mulciber dropped dead on the spot with two arrows to the chest. Lucius, along with the rest of the Death Eaters, bolted for cover and the fight was on. Curses and hexes shot back and forth, people screamed trying to avoid being trampled to death by the flowing of the crowd toward the Great Hall. Jugson didn't quite make it; knocked down by an arrow to the leg, he died a painful death under hundreds of stampeding feet.

Lucius elbowed his way through dueling Death Eaters to Narcissa, who was already running for the castle. "Draco's in there!" she gasped hysterically. "He told me!" Lucius didn't have time to argue that Draco couldn't have told her anything, he simply grabbed her hand and together they raced into the Great Hall with a good many others on their heels.

"Draco!" he bellowed, the name echoed immediately by Narcissa. "Split up. Honey, you go that way, I'll go this way!"

Lucius glimpsed a horde of house elves storming in from the kitchen and made a quick turn to dash up a stairway. He hadn't seen Draco in the Great Hall, he was probably hiding elsewhere. No point in trying to battle the hideous, dangerous little creatures, not that he stood a chance without a wand…and if Dobby was any indication, he didn't stand a chance even _with_ a wand. He glanced back to see Rowle overrun by the tiny devils who surrounded him, dragged him down, and were hacking at him with knives and cleavers. Lucius grimaced; not a pretty way to die.

Narcissa skirted the fighters to enter the corridor. "Draco!" How could he possibly hear her over all the commotion? "Draco, where are you?" She ran back into the crowded Hall, trying to contain her hysteria. Potter said he was here!

She barely dodged a hex that slammed into Yaxley, followed immediately by another. Good riddance, she hoped the young men responsible had killed the perverse Death Eater. Across the room she caught sight of a blond head. "Draco!" No, it was only Lucius!

Tears coursed down her face as she plunged onward. There were so many people she could barely plow her way through, then it seemed the crowd began to inexplicably part against the walls.

Slowly it dawned on her that most of the Death Eaters had fallen, either dead or incapacitated, and only two battles were going on—Bella and Lord Voldemort. Narcissa stopped, feeling numb. Bella was dueling three girls and getting the best of them when they were swept aside by an irate Molly Weasley, of all people. Bella laughed uproariously. The poor redheaded woman didn't stand a chance! Then again, she was fighting for something more than Bella could hope to understand—her children. As a mother desperate to save her own son, Narcissa thought perhaps the Weasley woman might put up a decent fight after all.

In the hushed silence of the Great Hall, broken only by the sounds of Voldemort's battle with three experienced adults, the two traded vicious magical blows, both furiously fighting to win…to kill. When a curse sneaked past Bella's defense, hitting her squarely in the chest, Narcissa gasped. Bella teetered and fell. A scream ripped the air, and Narcissa thought it had come from herself, except the explosion of the three combatants away from Voldemort told her differently. He was infuriated by the loss of his most devoted Death Eater.

Then came cheers and howls from the throng when Potter revealed himself to the dark lord. A hand slipped into hers and she turned, wide eyed, to view the face of her husband, with Draco in tow. Throwing herself at the boy, she clutched him to her chest as Harry and the dark lord circled each other on the floor.

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The Malfoys huddled together, exhausted, at one of the tables in the Great Hall, afraid to leave lest someone with a wand challenge them, and no way to get home if they did flee. None of them had a wand. People wandered about aimlessly looking for friends and loved ones, or grieving the loss of same, no one paying any attention to the Malfoys.

Voldemort was finally really and truly dead, for which they—along with everyone else— rejoiced deep in their souls. Severus, as Potter had revealed, was also dead, victim of that damned evil wizard; they mourned him in silence, comforted only by the presence of their loved ones alive and well beside them. Lucius was an escaped criminal, his son a Death Eater as well, his wife an accomplice. They harbored no doubt that they would all be arrested in due time, but for the moment they were free and together. It would have to be enough.

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"Professor McGonagall, may I speak with you?"

"Harry, of course!" The old woman pulled him into a hard embrace, her emotions for once let completely loose, then she straightened with a little cough and patted the bun askew on her head.

Looking every bit as weary as he felt, Harry said, "I hate to burden you with one more thing, but…well, Sn—Professor Snape. He—he was on our side."

"I know, Harry, I heard what you told…Voldemort." She winced at the name and pinched her lips tight.

"He—his body is in the Shrieking Shack. Would you come with me to bring him here? He deserves to be honored, not left to rot—"

"Mr. Potter, I certainly would not leave Severus 'to rot'. I'm honored that you chose me to help you," answered Minerva stiffly. The guilt roiling in her mind at all the awful things she'd said and thought about Snape came roaring to a head. "Come along."

They exited the Hall, now silent save the snores of those too tired or injured to go home. The Death Eaters who hadn't escaped the fight or been killed had been dealt with courtesy of every available auror, and were now safely tucked away in Azkaban. Peace once more reigned in the halls of Hogwarts. In the unnaturally quiet mid-morning they made their way to the shack, neither one anxious to arrive.

Harry led the way to the room where he'd witnessed the murder of Snape, and stopped abruptly in the doorway, his mouth dropping open. Minerva, assuming him to be in shock, pushed past him in a businesslike manner and halted in place. A large, dark pool of dried blood lay on the floor, but there was no Snape.

"He was here, I swear!" Potter exclaimed.

For the briefest second Minerva hesitated. Potter had undergone a lot in these past months, culminating in terrible things he'd seen and been forced to do, even offering himself up for death. Could he be punchdrunk from fatigue? Hallucinating, perhaps? But no, it didn't fit. Not able to argue with the fact that _someone_ had lain here, and probably died here, Minerva nodded sagely. Harry had seen it, Voldemort had admitted to killing Snape here. So where was he?

"I believe you, Potter. The burning question is, who took his body and why?"

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Darkness was his friend. From the time he'd been a boy, Rabastan Lestrange had preferred the dark to the light, metaphorically as well as physically. Daylight now shone strongly on this warm morning at the abandoned, dilapidated castle where he and the other Death Eaters had met so often with Lord Voldemort in the early years, before the master had been killed by the baby Potter. Back before things got so crazy. He stretched out his thin frame on the cold stones and sat up squinting, remembering last night.

The first part of the battle had gone well, they would have been victorious if they'd fought on, only the dark lord had commanded them to retreat to give Potter time to turn himself in. When they attacked the second time, the sheer number of reinforcements the Hogwarts defenders had gathered staggered him. In short order the Death Eaters had lost a good many men to the horde, it was inconceivable that they could win—inevitable that they'd lose the battle altogether even with the dark lord fighting alongside them.

The last straw had been seeing his brother Rodolphus fall under two hexes at once. Rabastan couldn't tell what the spells were or whether they were fatal, only that he'd gone down and there were almost none of their companions left standing. He'd done the only rational thing possible to avoid either dying or going back to that hellhole Azkaban: he'd turned and run, past the giants trying to crush him, and the centaurs trying to skewer him, and the screaming mob trying to lynch him. He hadn't stopped running until he'd reached Hogwarts' boundary where he could disapparate.

He'd come to their old stomping grounds because it was the first place he could think of that the aurors wouldn't know about. It seemed so hollow, so desolate, more so in the light of day. But at least it was safe.

"Rabastan!"

The man addressed nearly wet himself from shock as he twisted around sharply, wand at ready. "Damn it, Nott, you scared me shitless." He lowered the wand and stood up.

Udo Nott sauntered forward smirking. Though several years younger than Rabastan, the single year he'd spent in Azkaban had hollowed his cheeks and created a gaunt, older appearance much like the other man, who'd wasted in the prison far longer.

"I'm glad to see I'm not the only one who got away," said Nott. He walked over and sat on what used to be a countertop made by Lord Voldemort himself.

"How did the battle end?" asked Rabastan hesitantly. If the Death Eaters had somehow won against invincible odds, the dark lord would punish him horribly for his cowardice. He'd gone to Azkaban once, believing the dark lord would swiftly rescue him, and it hadn't worked out that way. He couldn't bear to do it again. Surely the master would understand. No, he wouldn't, he wouldn't care! That was the problem!

Nott shrugged one shoulder, looking a wee bit guilty. Obviously he was of the same opinion. "It was going really bad, there was no way we could win…" He bit his lip nervously. "I'm afraid to go home in case aurors are watching my house. Same with Malfoy's place."

"Well, we need to find out. If the dark lord catches us…" There was no need to finish. "We'll disguise ourselves and go to Knockturn Alley, find out what news. Then we'll decide what to do from there."


	2. Aftermath

Death Eater No More—Chapter Two (Aftermath)

(**Author's Note**: Please remember that some original characters and events have been taken from my previous works. If you haven't read them, you may wish to do so for a more complete picture.)

Azkaban was unpleasant by anyone's standards, this being a monumental understatement. Stone floor, walls, and ceiling with nothing but a toilet, sink, and floor mat made life uncomfortable at best; the cold, moist air whipping in through the bars of the cell doors and windows from the surrounding ocean made it nearly unbearable. The taunts of aurors recruited to guard the criminals added that special humiliating touch without which it just wouldn't feel like hell.

Lucius huddled on his hard straw mat on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chest for warmth. How quickly he'd allowed himself to forget the finer points of this illustrious establishment! Because of the sheer number of new occupants to the place, and because none had yet been tried—this being their first day after the battle at Hogwarts—the prisoners had been permitted to wear their own clothing instead of the mandated prison garb. For this small blessing Lucius gave thanks.

His throat raw from the misty chill and from the previous hours of shouting in desperation to Narcissa and Draco and receiving no answer, he stood up and hurried to the bars when he heard footsteps approaching. A Malfoy wasn't supposed to beg, he'd had that pounded into him along with a long list of other Malfoy attributes, yet he was prepared to beg, bribe, or threaten the auror for news of his family.

The door to the cell beside him swung open without the guard touching it, a man was thrust inside, and the door clicked shut. The footsteps started to move away.

"Wait!" Lucius called. With his face pressed to the bars, he could barely see the auror's retreating figure.

The auror turned back and Lucius sucked in a breath. It was one of those Weasley boys! "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Where are my wife and son?" But for the slight tremor, it might have sounded commanding.

Percy's face screwed up in a hateful snarl. "How would I know? If we're lucky, they're dead like my brother!" He whirled and stomped off.

"How dare you!" Lucius screamed after him, his fists clenching the bars so hard his knuckles showed white. "I'll k—"

"Don't say it, Lucius," interrupted a voice from the next cell.

Startled yet intrigued by the familiar voice, Lucius instantly lost interest in the Weasley puke. Using the childhood nickname he'd foregone in favor of formality years ago he said, "Roddy, is that you?"

"Yeah," answered Rodolphus from the adjoining cell. He came up to the bars and glanced over. All he could see were Malfoy's hands gripping the bars; he recognized the pinky wedding ring and grinned, vaguely wondering why they hadn't taken it from him.

"Why are they only bringing you in now? I saw them take you away from Hogwarts before me."

"Thanks to the _benevolence_ of the victors, they had to put a lot of us in the infirmary," replied his companion with a light shrug, his voice dripping heavily with sarcasm. "As soon as we're better, they stick us in a cell to rot until our farce of a trial. They want to make sure we're healthy enough to die in this wretched place."

_How comforting_, Lucius grumbled inwardly. "I don't suppose you've heard anything of Narcissa or Draco," he murmured, his heart contracting painfully.

Rodolphus dropped his eyes to the floor, pinching his lips together, the silence strained and deafening.

His friend's refusal to answer shot through Lucius, who let out an unintentional gasped breath as if he'd been punched in the chest. "What did you hear?" he whispered.

"Nothing of Draco," said Rodolphus quickly. Although he'd never been blessed or cursed with a child—he hadn't yet decided which it was—over the years he'd observed how attached Lucius was to Draco…and Narcissa. He swallowed over an unaccustomed lump in his throat. "In the infirmary…I-I heard vomiting. A lot of vomiting, and crying. The medi-witch was tending a woman. I didn't _see_ her, but I heard them say 'Malfoy' and…" He seemed particularly reluctant to go on.

"And what?" Lucius pressed.

"Lucius, what difference does it really make? You'll be stuck in here forever like me, you'll never see her again—"

"And _what_?" demanded Lucius in a choked cry.

"The medi-witch said they couldn't keep her here, in her condition it was too dangerous and she'd…die," he finished softly.

Lucius' hands fell limply from the bars and his body slumped forward. In an unnaturally high, tight voice he asked, "What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know," answered Rodolphus simply. "I imagine she caught something in her cell." He checked himself before surmising she'd probably caught whatever _killed_ the last occupant of her cell. They couldn't legally allow Narcissa to die here before her trial, of course they'd ship her off.

Lucius slid down to the floor, crouched briefly, and let himself fall lifelessly on his rear. If Narcissa had contracted something bad enough to have her sent to the mainland for treatment, it had to be _very_ bad. She was suffering, probably asking for him and he couldn't be with her. Draco couldn't be with his mother when she needed him so.

This was all his fault, if he hadn't been a Death Eater, everything would be fine! Silent tears trickled down his cheeks and he made no move to staunch them. He couldn't even laugh at the irony of it. He'd only become a Death Eater in order to have Narcissa, who'd been unwillingly betrothed to another, forced to make an Unbreakable Vow to wed him. Lord Voldemort had pledged to eliminate that man, leaving the way clear to Narcissa; the dark lord made good on his promise, Lucius married his love, and now she was to die because of his affiliation with the Death Eaters while he wasted away in this hellhole. And his only son…Draco would never have become a Death Eater were it not to try to save his family, all because of Lucius again, because of his failure in the simple task of acquiring the prophecy! He was worse than useless to his family, he was the agent of their destruction!

"Lucius?"

Malfoy wiped a sleeve of his expensive robe across his eyes. "What?"

"You don't happen to know which level Bella is on, do you?"

Pause. His mind flitted back to the battle, recalling that Rodolphus had gone down by that point. "I'm sorry, Roddy, I thought you knew."

"Knew what?"

If there'd been an easy or kind way to phrase it, Lucius would have. Instead he just came out with it. "Molly Weasley killed her," he intoned flatly. "They were dueling…"

"That's impossible!" barked Rodolphus. "Bella's one of the best duelers in the world, a blood traitor bitch wouldn't stand a chance!"

"I'm sorry," repeated Lucius as he leaned against the bars. As much as he disliked Bella, he truly was sorry for Rodolphus' sake. "I saw it. It was a fluke."

Lucius had expected Rodolphus to be angry, to rage and swear. What he hadn't anticipated were the mournful cries of grief that tore from the man's throat and echoed down the lonely corridor, the same cries that echoed in his own heart at all he'd lost. With the jeers of other inmates further down the row punctuating the sobs, Rodolphus mourned his wife, while in the sanctuary of his miserable cell Lucius wept softly for those he loved, for those he'd never see again.

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Rabastan glowered over at Nott, whose idea of disguising himself was evidently to copy Rabastan's glamour charm. Both now sported shaggy blond hair and blue eyes, straight noses, and chiseled chins.

"Why did you do that?" snapped Rabastan.

"So we'd look like brothers," explained Nott nonchalantly. "Nobody will be looking for brothers."

Well, he had a point there. Rabastan scowled and grinned at once, not sure which to do. Nott wasn't the most astute fellow, yet every now and again he surprised people with a bit of common sense. Lestrange peered in the mirror he'd conjured, half expecting to see his usual dark reflection, his smoky eyes, his gaunt features. He had to admit he actually preferred his new look.

"Ready?"

Nott nodded and came to stand beside him to make sure they apparated to the same location; in the event of a fight, it helped to have somebody at your back. Nott took hold of Rabastan's arm and they disappeared, reappearing outside Diagon Alley. Had the Ministry not put anti-apparition spells on the whole area to prevent Death Eater attacks—and now escapes—they'd have gone straight to Knockturn Alley. They rushed past a throng of giddy citizens chattering animatedly, ignoring them as they hurried to where the atmosphere felt freer, less inhibited, less…dangerous…for people of their ilk.

Talk in Knockturn Alley being unusually loud and boisterous, it wasn't long until they found out what they came for. A trio of intoxicated wizards holding up a brick wall with their backs gestured to the men as they walked by.

"Have a sip, mate?" slurred one, offering his bottle to Nott.

"Uh, no thanks," said the other, curling his lip back. He liked firewhiskey as much as the next, but there was a line he didn't care to cross.

"Ya got to celebrate!" insisted the boozehound. "You-Know-Who's finally gone!"

Rabastan and Nott froze as one. Feeling a sudden rush of bile to his mouth, Rabastan stepped closer. "What do you mean?" he asked guardedly.

"Ain't ya heard?"

Another of the drunks stumbled forward excitedly. "Big battle at Hogwarts school last night. That Harry Potter killed 'im this time, killed 'im good!"

"And he ain't comin' back!" added the first man, smiling wide enough to show several missing teeth. "There's talk of some hork-rucks or somethin' all bein' dead. Don' know what them are, but Voldemort's dead!"

"Don't say his name!" barked Nott and Rabastan together before cringing as they realized what they'd done. Fortunately, the inebriated men didn't seem to notice.

"Is there a newspaper around?" asked Rabastan.

One of the wizards pointed down the street. "They sells 'em over there."

The two Death Eaters took off at a near sprint, rounded the corner, and came upon a woman sitting in a tiny booth in the street with a wide variety of trinkets and wares on display around her. Smack dab in the middle of the mess sat a lone copy of the _Daily Prophet_ that looked as if it had been read repeatedly and tossed down.

Rabastan picked it up while the headline literally screamed in his face, "Voldemort is Dead! The Dark Wizard is Gone!" Hungrily he began to read.

"Hey!" shrilled the witch. "That'll be—"

Nott shut her up by tossing her a coin that covered the cost of a dozen newspapers, then he dragged his friend off down a nearby alley where they devoured the article that proclaimed unambiguously that the dark lord was, indeed, quite dead. And this time he would not be coming back.

They exchanged glances that carried relief and joy at the freedom from torture, but also a certain despondency. They'd lost. The dark lord, the one they'd counted on to save pureblood wizard society, had not only been taken out by a kid—again, he'd been a _halfblood_, the spawn of a witch and a Muggle father. Everything they'd been fighting for all these years had vanished in an instant, leaving them with an emptiness of purpose. All their comrades had been killed or sent to Azkaban, save a few like themselves who'd had the presence of mind to flee while they had the chance. Their lives as they knew them were altered forever, and it was a sobering, frightening thought.

Paper in hand, Nott skimmed an adjoining article; the entire paper, it seemed, was dedicated to yesterday's events at Hogwarts. A rundown of known deaths included Selwyn, Jugson, Travers, Goyle, Rowle, Mulciber…

He bade a silent _good riddance_ to Mulciber, father of his good friend Jack, who'd grown up terrorized by the bastard. In spite of his father's rejection, Jack had strived to please him, had practiced Dark Arts with the best of them in a futile, desperate attempt to procure his father's love. When the teenaged Jack had suggested becoming a Death Eater, Mulciber had laughed in Jack's face and ridiculed him, calling him retarded and useless. The fact that Jack was accustomed to such treatment hadn't made it any more palatable, but at least he'd been spared becoming a lackey of the dark wizard. He was the lucky one now, he wasn't in hiding, running for his life. Nott's eyes scanned the next paragraph and he grunted sharply.

"What is it?" asked Rabastan.

"Bella's dead," said Nott, shocked. The article must be mistaken, there was no way this could be true! He'd never seen anyone duel better than Bella!

Rabastan snatched the paper away to read for himself. He snorted in disgust. "Weasley! Those damned Weasleys have their nose in all sorts of places where it doesn't belong."

Then something occurred to him: Rodolphus wasn't listed among the dead. He couldn't have escaped, Rabastan had seen him go down. That meant he'd gone back to Azkaban.

Nott nudged him with an elbow. "I'm hungry. Let's go get something to eat."

"Yeah," agreed Rabastan as he folded the paper and stowed it in his robes. "We have to talk about what to do now. And the first order of business is how to get my brother out of Azkaban."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Is he awake?" A head topped with short black hair popped around the door. The face, while lacking the hooked nose and drawn appearance, had the same shape, the same unreadable black eyes as the man in the bed.

A young woman sitting beside the bed looked up at him and smiled wearily. Her black hair and eyes added to the strong resemblance between them, identifying her as their sister. She shook her head at her twin. "I've given him several doses of blood replenisher as the patronus instructed me, but he lost so much. I'm worried, maybe we ought to call a medi-witch."

"Don't be asinine," drawled Severus, his eyes closed. It seemed too much effort to open them.

"Severus!" squealed Justina, throwing herself at him to hug him tightly. "I was so upset."

He patted her back affectionately, and was momentarily joined by Julius, who contented himself with grasping his brother's other hand in a hard grip.

Through his agonized throat Severus rasped, "I need a potion to heal my throat."  
Justina tilted her head to say, "Julius, bring me the potion in the orange vial in my cabinet."

The young man left without question or argument, testament to the seriousness of the situation. He returned within a minute and handed the bottle to his sister, who lifted it to Severus' lips. Instinctively he took a whiff first then, satisfied with the aroma, swallowed three large gulps that made him grimace. Justina began another series of diagnostics with her wand down the older man's body.

"Who made these potions you've been force-feeding me?" demanded Severus, his voice already sounding substantially better. He opened his eyes to pierce the twins.

"I did," said Justina defensively. "If you don't like it, too bad. I did it exactly as you taught me."

A slightly cocked eyebrow was the only reply at first, then he pronounced, "Well done."

Justina and Julius both broke into grins. It had been a long night and much of this day of worry and fretting since Justina had been summoned by Severus' patronus and informed he was dying in the Shrieking Shack. She'd frantically raced over to Julius' nearby house, and together they'd made haste to his side, levitated him to a place from which they could disapparate to her home in Wales, and had hovered at his side ever since, unaware of what had happened to their brother and to the wizarding world.

"Who won?" asked Severus, almost afraid of the answer.

"Won what?" replied Julius. If Severus meant the fight that left him in this condition, the answer was patently obvious.

"The battle at Hogwarts," said his brother, rolling his eyes as if the young man was a dimwit. "The dark lord and his minions were attacking."

"That's the noise we heard!" exclaimed Justina. Then the gravity of it struck her. This was how Severus had been injured! "You were attacking Hogwarts? How awful!"

Severus was poised to deny the vile accusation, but he couldn't. He _had_ been there with the rest of the Death Eaters before being called back to the shack. It was just too complicated for him to go into at the moment. "I didn't hurt anyone from the school, I promise you that," he said at last.

Julius came around the bed and flopped into the chair his sister had vacated when she got up to tend Severus. "Okay, so tell us what's going on."

"I just did," snapped Severus in agitation. "You need to find out which side won, if Potter—go find out! Get a newspaper, ask a neighbor!"

"Bossy prat," sniped Julius, though he got up and stomped from the room.

Severus leaned back, exhausted. "Let me rest," he whispered. If Lord Voldemort had won, he'd need all his strength for the battle yet to come.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Potter had done it. The arrogant, disobedient, attention-seeking whelp had managed to get himself killed by Lord Voldemort and _still_ come back to finish off the diabolical maniac. Was there no dispatching the brat?

Severus read the entire newspaper again to make sure he hadn't missed any pertinent points. The dark lord was dead, the horcruxes done away with, Potter was alive. Nope, he hadn't missed anything. It was finally over. Like the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders, he breathed deep and relaxed against the pillows propping him up. No more did he have a responsibility to protect the obnoxious, spoiled prince of the Gryffindorks, no more did he have to deal with troops of horrid rugrats at all.

His sister came in, the expression on her face hurt and accusing. Before she spoke he knew what she was going to say. "How could you, Severus? You would follow that evil dark lord even to attacking children?"

"Tina, I think you know me better than that," he began. The twins had been informed of his Death Eater activity as well as his spying for Dumbledore, he'd told them before convincing them to move to Wales for safety nearly ten years ago. "I was ordered to be there, I had to make it look as though I were loyal, but I did no harm or injury to any child or teacher." A few Death Eaters had gotten a shot in the back, however.

By then Julius had joined his sister, his countenance mirroring hers. "So you knew this battle was going to happen," he stated.

"Yes," admitted Severus, stony faced.

"Why didn't you tell the authorities?" said Justina.

Severus rolled his eyes again, sneering slightly. Definitely he was feeling better. "The Death Eaters had taken over the Ministry, there was no one to tell. And if I had been foolish enough to try, they'd have killed me on the spot."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Julius queried. "We could've gone to help fight for Hogwarts, too!"

Severus glared at him. He was ill, he was tired, and he certainly didn't appreciate the interrogation session. "Because I didn't want you there! Why do you think I sent you to live here? So you'd be away from all that!"

"But—"

"Nobody expected the people in Hogwarts to put up a fight," Severus interrupted. "The dark lord thought Potter would give himself up rather than let others be killed because of him. Unfortunately, it didn't quite play out that way. The Death Eaters were winning when I was called back to the shack, they _would_ have won if they hadn't been ordered to pull back, which gave reinforcements time to arrive."

"With more people helping, they might not have got as far," Julius countered.

"I'm not an idiot, Julius!" Severus snapped. If he had enough strength and could reach, he'd have smacked his brother. "You were better off here. Like I said, there wasn't even supposed to be a battle, and when there was, the Death Eaters would have won. If either of you had been caught there after their victory, they'd have murdered you—probably after forcing you to watch them torture and murder your families!"

"We still had a right to know," insisted Justina. "We could've helped _somehow_."

Severus heaved a great sigh. Just when he thought his fighting was over… "With mum and dad dead, I had a duty as your older brother to protect you."

Julius snorted and scoffed, "We're twenty-eight, not twelve! Your duty to us expired a long time ago."

"It never expires," said Severus quietly. "Besides, you both have a duty to be here to protect your own children."

He didn't need to add that the reason he'd rarely visited them in Wales was to make it easier to hide his memories with Occlumency against an ever-more-suspicious Voldemort. The less he thought of them, the safer they, their spouses, and children would be. And, in his typical manner of a spy who never did anything without considering the consequences, he had to play both sides of the fence: if Voldemort won the war, his siblings would be out of harm's way because he was a Death Eater; if Voldemort lost, they'd kept their distance from Severus, had no part in his doings, so they'd be blameless before the law.

"What happened in the Shrieking Shack?" asked Justina. "Where did all that blood come from? I found only minor wounds on your neck."

"The dark lord sicked his snake on me," responded Severus calmly, though a glimmer of terror shot through him at recalling the horror of the incident. As quickly as the fear flitted into his eyes, it was gone. "I was able to heal the major arteries, but I'd lost too much blood to help myself any further. My bezoar took care of any venom."

Both Julius and Justina patted their pockets to show they, too, carried the stone capable of saving their lives against poison. Severus had harped on it so often when they were children it seemed simpler to do as he asked than argue.

Justina crept over and sat down on the foot of the bed. Her earlier anger had morphed into anxiety. "What happens now, Severus? The paper says they're searching for Death Eaters that escaped."

Good question. No one except Potter knew Snape had been a spy, that his allegiance was with the light side. He could hardly count on the savior of the wizarding world to let that little tidbit slip out to the public, not with the animosity of the years between them. Hell, the brat had left him there to die in the shack, surely he wouldn't go out of his way to help him now. The wretch would probably gloat as he testified to the Ministry how Snape was Satan incarnate.

"I don't know, Tina. I suppose once I'm well I'll have to go into hiding until I can prove my innocence to someone who isn't desperate to see me perish in Azkaban, and sadly that list is rather short. For now, I'd like to sleep."


	3. The Calm Before the Storm

Death Eater No More—Chapter Three (The Calm Before the Storm)

His first whiff of the place smelled of antiseptics and potions, making Harry wince. He'd spent enough time in the Hogwarts infirmary to be gun-shy of hospitals, and it took all his reputed Gryffindor courage not to turn tail and scuttle back out the door. Waiting right inside was an older gentleman in fine dark robes that flowed almost majestically around him; his eyes lit at the sight of the Potter lad.

The man came forward, hand extended to pump the boy's arm up and down. "Harry Potter, what an honor to meet you! I'm Mr. Norman, attorney for Narcissa Malfoy."

Blushing slightly, Harry shook his hand. It still unnerved him to be hailed as some kind of savior, as if he'd chosen his path willingly. Given the choice, he'd have happily abdicated the responsibility to someone else. "Right. Well then, what is it Mrs. Malfoy wanted to say?"

"I believe she wanted to speak to you herself. If you'll follow me." Norman took off at a brisk clip down the labyrinth of hallways that comprised St. Mungo's Hospital.

Harry trotted behind him until he caught up, then strode along matching the man's pace. It surprised him that a man of this age could move so fast. In the back of his mind he wondered if the Malfoys planned to sue him for something—they had a lawyer, after all. Yet the wizard seemed pleasant, not hostile, and he couldn't begin to imagine what case they'd have against him.

"I want to congratulate you, Mr. Potter," Mr. Norman was saying. "All the wizarding world is in your debt."

Unconsciously Harry stroked a finger over the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. It didn't hurt, it had merely become habit from all the pain of the past few years. "I'm sure anyone would have done the same," he murmured.

"You're a modest young man," observed the other. "Not what I expected at all."

Harry grinned weakly. Perhaps he wouldn't be so modest if he could say he'd done it all without assistance, but the truth was he couldn't have accomplished anything without boatloads of help and he was acutely aware of that fact.

"Here we are. You go on in, I'll remain outside." Mr. Norman pushed open a door.

Immediately inside in plain view was a bed in which Narcissa Malfoy lay half-sitting, her eyes looking hollow and haunted, her face peaked. Despite that, she brightened and smiled as she motioned the boy forward, and with a wave of her hand the door closed behind him.

"Hello, Harry," she said softly. Halfblood Gryffindor pain in the ass that he was, he'd gotten rid of the dark lord once and for all; that counted for a lot.

"Mrs. Malfoy." He stood there uneasily, waiting. "Um…are you okay?"

"I will be, unless I have to go back to Azkaban," she said, carefully noting the expression of confused disbelief clouding his features. "The conditions there are too harsh, the doctors have said I'd die within a few months."

From disbelief, Harry's expression turned to livid. "They sent you to Azkaban? Why?"

"That I can't say, I can only surmise it is because Voldemort stayed in our home—against our wishes, yet if we dared oppose him he'd have tortured and killed us," she answered, feeling her own emotions rise. How she hated Voldemort and what he'd done to their family! At the same time, she was touched that Potter should show such outrage over what had befallen her. "I am not a Death Eater, nor did I have any desire to have them in my house. We—Lucius and I—were compelled to host them, and forced to go along to Hogwarts with them, neither of us having wands!"

That was so, Harry knew for a fact. Draco admitted borrowing his mother's wand, and Dumbledore had spoken of Voldemort shattering Lucius' wand back when he'd escaped from the Dursley home. "It's not right, they can't send you there for nothing!" ranted Harry, suddenly remembering how Sirius had been unceremoniously dumped in the horrible prison without benefit of a trial. "They just can't!"

Narcissa paused. Couldn't they? How naïve the boy was! For years the Ministry had done whatever it pleased with no regard to rules or procedure when the situation was expedient, and she saw no reason this would be any different. "That's why I asked you here, Harry. You've saved the wizarding world—"

"I wish everyone would stop saying that," he interrupted.

"Nonetheless, it's true. Anyone, even the Minister himself, will listen to you." Narcissa lowered her voice and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. Leaning in close as if they shared a secret, she said, "I saved your life. The Death Eaters would have torn you limb from limb if I'd told them you were alive. You owe me a favor in like kind."

"How very Slytherin of you," he remarked.

"I prefer to call it _fair_," she snapped back. "If the treatment I and my family have received is indicative of their _justice_, we don't stand a chance."

"With all due respect, Mrs. Malfoy, your husband was an escaped convict."

Only the delicacy of the situation kept Narcissa on an even keel, she must not antagonize the boy. Using the calmest tone she could manage she said, "Lucius spent a year in that hell called Azkaban for breaking into the Department of Mysteries. He didn't kill or even hurt anyone in his attempt to gain the prophecy, and he only did it out of fear of Voldemort. He spent the next year being beaten and _crucio_'d almost daily by the dark lord for his failure. How much punishment is enough, Harry?"

"But he's a Death Eater!" exclaimed Potter.

"He was never a Death Eater, not in the way you believe!" cried Narcissa, unable to restrain herself any longer. "He isn't vile or evil, he doesn't kill…" A sob escaped unbidden and she turned her head, covering her face with her hands. "And Draco, my baby. Voldemort threatened to murder us if he didn't obey—what would _you_ have done in his place?"

She didn't look at him or even expect an answer, she simply bowed her head and wept. It was pointless to put her faith or hope in those who couldn't understand fear and pain and loss…yet Harry had lost his parents, his godfather, friends. Why couldn't he empathize with her?

Harry shuffled his weight from one foot to the other as he chewed his lip. Well, this was awkward. Why did she have to cry? He hated it when women cried. It wasn't like Harry wanted to deliberately do the wrong thing. He needed to think, something he wasn't all too accustomed to doing. This was so complex, he wasn't used to having to determine a course of action, he'd always been told what to do.

Lucius Malfoy was a prat who ought to rot in prison, that was easy enough. Draco may be a Death Eater and a pompous jerk, but what if Narcissa spoke the truth? Harry had been on the tower when Draco made his last attempt at the Headmaster; the blond git had been incapable of murder, just as Dumbledore had suspected. And in the Room of Requirement Draco had ordered his cronies not to kill Harry, purely for selfish reasons no doubt, but he hadn't made any attempt himself. Yet Draco had let Death Eaters into Hogwarts and Dumbledore had died because of it! No, that wasn't really accurate, he admitted grudgingly. Dumbledore was already nearly dead and had arranged his death with Snape. And as for the Malfoy matriarch, when all was said and done, Narcissa Malfoy hadn't done anything wicked, it was blatantly wrong to punish her.

"Uh, I think I should go, Mrs. Malfoy." He edged backward, leery that the distraught woman might somehow zap him even without her wand. "I'll talk to some people and see what I can do for you. Okay?"

Not hanging around to find out if she heard him, he yanked open the door and bolted out, not even acknowledging the wizard pacing outside, who gaped at him before hurrying in to assure himself Narcissa was safe and sound.

"Narcissa, what is it? What happened?" he exclaimed.

"He—won't—help," she choked out between sobs. "Not Lucius—or Draco."

Mr. Norman came up beside her to pat her back and stroke her hair like a child. "Shh, Narcissa, it'll be alright. Abraxas Malfoy was a good friend to me, I won't let his son or grandson perish in prison. My associates and I helped Lucius avoid Azkaban once, we'll figure out something this time around. For all the Malfoys." He continued to pat her back as a game plan formed in his mind. Harry Potter had no intention of helping them, eh? They'd see about that.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Severus felt strange. It had been a week since Nagini's attack, and physically he was healthy once more; that wasn't the problem. The thing was, he'd discovered in the newspaper that everyone—except his siblings and their families—believed him dead, and to be quite honest it wasn't an altogether objectionable position to be in. If he were dead he wouldn't have to concern himself over whether he'd be stuck in Azkaban for life for being a Death Eater, which the paper also noted copious amounts of times. His newfound deadness might even give him the opportunity to quietly track down the Golden Trio and slit their throats to let them see how unpleasant it can be to lie helplessly on the floor bleeding to death. Though he'd never actually _do_ it, the fantasy made him smirk.

But no, he was unquestionably alive and standing on the porch to Glenna and Jack Mulciber's house, feeling a bit queasy and nervous. He'd thrown on a hasty glamour charm to turn his hair light brown and shrink his nose in case anyone saw him; as he observed himself in the window reflection, he thought he looked a bit like Jack.

He smoothed down his plain black robes, fighting a sudden grin. Jacinta always complained about his lack of variety. _Jacinta_. His heart leaped in his chest at the thought of his only daughter…Glenna's daughter. He sighed. The years had aided him in squelching his love for Glenna, particularly since she'd gone off and married her old lover Jack when she found herself pregnant by Snape, a man who not only professed no desire for children, but was incapable of professing his love for _her_.

It had been for the best, he supposed, he couldn't have cared for the child while carrying out his Death Eater and spy duties. Jack had raised and loved Jacinta as his own, she'd grown up happy. At least Severus had got to be part of her life, even if he couldn't raise her; there was consolation in that.

His knock was answered by a wizened house elf who scrutinized him up and down, then slammed the door in his face and shuffled off. Shortly the door opened again and a brown haired man of Severus' age stood there staring curiously at him.

"Yes?" asked Jack.

"Let me in, Mulciber, it's me," drawled Severus, not disguising his voice.

Jack peered deeply into Severus' face, into the black fathomless eyes, and his own blue eyes grew round as he swallowed hard. "Snape?"

"Bravo." Severus stepped inside, pushing Jack lightly out of the way. A single wave of his wand revealed him in rightful form.

"But you're dead!" hissed the other.

"Grossly exaggerated, obviously." As if he'd expect any less from Potter. "Is Jacinta here? I came to see her." He hadn't seen his daughter since Christmas time; he missed her and feared she must be taking his death rather hard.

"No, she's…she's due back soon…" Jack trailed off, confused. "Harry Potter swore you were dead, Severus. How can this be?"

"Harry Potter, _hero_ of the wizarding world, is a moron," replied Snape candidly, with a tinge of sarcasm on the 'hero' part. "I had the displeasure of trying to impart a vestige of knowledge into his thick head for several years. Evidently I failed miserably."

"But—_how_?" sputtered Jack. "I mean, he claims he _saw_ you die."

"Wishful thinking on the part of the deluded dunderhead," responded Severus dryly, walking into the sitting room and flopping onto the couch. "He did _leave_ me for dead, which I suppose in his feeble mind amounted to the same thing. The twins came to my aid when I sent a patronus."

"Ah," sighed Jack as he seated himself in an armchair. "I must say, I'm glad you're alive. The kids have been quite upset." A twinkle in his eye suggested the kids weren't the only ones.

Severus' eyebrows went up a touch. Of course Jacinta loved him, but he'd never let himself consider that her younger half-brothers and half-sister felt the same, even though he'd spent nearly as much time with them as with her in the past few years. He'd last visited them at Christmas along with Jacinta, and he recalled now how relieved he'd been that they all attended Beauxbatons. Hogwarts simply wasn't safe during that dangerous period before the dark lord finally fell for good.

For his part, though Jack wouldn't say so, he was stunned but delighted to find Snape alive. They'd been friends of sorts in school, apart from their rivalry over Glenna. Although they'd fallen out completely when Glenna chose to marry him rather than stay with Snape, who'd acted like an inconsiderate ass to her, their shared love of Jacinta had eventually brought them back to a tenuous friendship that had strengthened over the years.

"I heard your father was killed in the battle," said Severus. "Should I offer condolences?"

Jack shrugged, studying a miniscule rip in the carpet. "No big loss, right? He treated me like shit growing up, then for years I had to worry about him going after Jacinta." If Mulciber, Sr. had an inkling his granddaughter was not only NOT his granddaughter but a halfblood, he'd have killed her; as such, they'd danced around the truth of her parentage, not always an easy thing to do.

This little trip down memory lane got Jack to thinking of another old school chum. Out of the blue he asked, "Have you seen Nott?"

"Nott? No, why? I thought he'd be in Azkaban."

Jack shook his head and glanced around cautiously, then whispered, "He was here yesterday." He didn't think Snape could possibly get any paler than his usual pasty white, yet he just had. "He escaped capture by running away from the battle, he wanted help, but…"

"You have a family to think of," Severus finished for him in a firm tone that echoed Jack's thoughts.

"The Ministry already sent aurors to question me on account of my father. Because he was a Death Eater, I must be degenerate scum, too."

Severus pinched his lips together. "I was a Death Eater. Does that make me degenerate scum?"

"You know what I mean. They lump all Slytherins together." Jack stopped himself before adding that if Snape had done half the things Mulciber, Sr. had done, he was _indeed_ scum and should be put away. "I felt bad for Nott, but I can't afford to get involved." He sounded slightly guilty. In his head he understood Nott had no right to ask, but he'd grown up with him, they were friends.

"I agree. If aurors found him here, someone could be hurt in the ensuing battle," said Severus. "Nott is a bonehead, but he's got a wife and children, he ought to understand."

He hadn't heard the door, but when Severus looked up he detected movement in the doorway. His eyes fell on a young woman of nineteen with light brown hair and blue eyes much like Jack—oddly enough, since she had no blood ties to the man and definitely resembled Severus, most particularly in her thin frame and miniature version of his hooked nose. He smiled and stood up.

"Papa?" she breathed, edging forward as if afraid he were a ghost.

"Yes, Jacinta, it is I," he assured her, extending his arms.

Jacinta lunged into the embrace, her bony shoulder colliding with his gut and knocking the wind from him. She clung to his midsection as he gasped for air and tears streamed down her face. "I thought you were dead!"

"I—know," he grunted, clutching her tightly as much for support as out of love. He wished this moment might never end, save the lungs searing from lack of oxygen.

As with all good things, it did end. The young woman pulled away with a frown and that blasted condemnatory look he'd had plenty of from his siblings. Honestly, didn't people ever get tired of impugning him? Heaven knows _he_ was certainly tired of it.

"I read in the _Daily Prophet_ that you're a Death Eater," she began, wiping the tears from her cheeks and sniffling quietly. "I didn't believe them, just like I didn't believe you killed Dumbledore. I thought they were lying because they didn't like you, and now I heard you admit it! And daddy, you knew all along, didn't you?"

Jack averted his eyes from her penetrating, Snape-like glare. "Yes, I knew, but it's not that straightforward. He's not a thug."

"Daddy, he killed Dumbledore!"

"Jacinta," interrupted Severus, taking her by the shoulders and turning her to face him. "I did kill him—on his orders. I was a spy for Dumbledore. I take it the _Daily Prophet_ didn't mention that." Jack snapped his head around, to Snape's wry smile. "I couldn't very well tell you, could I? Come sit down, it's a long story." His hand slid down her arm to her grasp her hand, and he led her to the sofa. If only it could be this easy to enlighten the rest of the wizarding world!

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Lucius, how long have we been here?" Rodolphus stared blankly straight ahead at the stone wall, his back propped against the opposite wall as he sat on the thin straw mat, his only layer of protection from the bone chilling floor.

"Six days," responded Lucius in a monotone. "No, wait—seven. I forgot to mark today." With some effort to move from his semi-comfortable spot, he crawled across the floor and pried loose a flat bit of stone from under the sink. It was no larger than his thumbnail, sharp on one edge. Kneeling up at the wall, he laboriously scratched it up and down to form a groove beside his other tally marks.

"Can I borrow your pebble? I searched the whole place and I have nothing here."

Lucius gripped the chip in his fist, clutching it to his chest like a prized possession. What if Rodolphus didn't give it back, or it was confiscated by those despicable guards? He'd have nothing to write with. Reluctantly he replied, "I guess so, but I'll need it back so I can return it to its place. If the aurors see it, they'll take it away."

His friend nodded in agreement, though Lucius couldn't see him. "Hand it round through the bars."

Their cells being directly adjoining with a meter's thickness between them, it was necessary for both men to flatten themselves against their respective walls, stick one arm out through the bars, and stretch for the other's hand. Ordinarily this might seem an effortless task, except they were reaching blind. Their hands flailed about, coming within a centimeter of touching, then swinging wildly past one another.

All at once Lestrange jerked upward as Lucius swung downward and their wrists slapped together. Rodolphus' cufflink snagged on the delicate ornamental decoration, a gold filigree overlaying Lucius' sleeve, and stuck tight. Irritated, he gave it a tug.

"Stop pulling my arm," snapped Lucius. "Let go and take the stone."

"I can't," scowled Rodolphus, giving another yank. "I'm stuck."

Frowning, Lucius gave a tentative pull. Sure enough, his sleeve was caught on something. "Well get it off," he commanded.

"Don't you think I'm trying?" retorted Rodolphus. He wiggled and twisted his wrist in an attempt to dislodge the tiny dragon-shaped link. All he succeeded in doing was wedging the dragon's head further into the filigree, as well as shoving its tail into another loop of the fabric. Becoming more agitated, he jerked harder.

"You're ripping it!" barked Lucius. "What are you, a barbarian?"

"It's just a stupid piece of cloth, Lucius," ground out the other through clenched teeth.

"It's a very _expensive_ piece of cloth," Lucius corrected haughtily.

"Unless you want to spend the rest of your life kissing the wall with your arm hanging out of your cell, we're gonna have to rip it," Rodolphus snarled. "I, for one, don't give a diddly damn about your sleeve, especially considering they'll be forcing us to wear prison clothes pretty soon anyway!"

With one final hard yank accompanied by the sound of tearing fabric, Rodolphus' arm broke free, as did Lucius'. The stone went flying out of Malfoy's hand and landed in the corridor, bounced twice, and came to rest out of reach but right in front of Lestrange's cell.

"Nice job," said Lucius sarcastically. He drew his arm back in to inspect the damage to his robes. "I hope you're happy. I could've thrown it there and saved us both a lot of trouble."

Rodolphus was poised for a snotty comeback when they heard the creaking iron gate at the end of the hallway opening. Footsteps grew ever closer as the men's hearts quickened. The footfalls passed Rodolphus' cell and stopped in front of Lucius.

Percy glared at the prisoner with undisguised loathing. "It's time for your trial, Malfoy. Don't try anything stupid or I won't hesitate to blast you." He brandished his wand for emphasis.

"M-my trial? Why wasn't I told?" exclaimed Lucius, his fingers desperately combing at the knots in his hair and running over his beard stubble. He looked atrocious—and smelled worse—which would only serve to prejudice the council against him.

Weasley ignored Lucius' questions. He'd been informed two days ago of the trial scheduled for today, but saw no reason to let Malfoy know. His wand twitched and the door swung open; another spell bound Lucius' hands together in front of him. "Let's go."

Trembling, Lucius stepped out into the corridor. He'd like to say it felt freer than in the cell, yet recalling what had happened last time, when he'd been caught in the Department of Mysteries, was indelibly stamped on his mind. He'd spent a year wasting away in this squalid place, and it would have been longer but for the prison break. In a matter of hours he would likely be back here for good, with no hope of a trial to keep his spirits afloat, and the thought made his chest contract painfully.

As he passed Rodolphus, he paused and glanced over. "I'll see you, Roddy."

"I hope not," answered Lestrange.

With the edge of his boot Lucius snagged the tiny stone and kicked it toward Rodolphus; without a break in stride, he kept on moving. Rodolphus bent down and picked it up, listened to the sound of the gate closing, then walked over to his mat and began to scratch lines in the wall above it.


	4. The Storm

Death Eater No More—Chapter Four (The Storm)

An unholy quiet had settled over the hundreds of wizards and witches occupying row after row of tiered benches in the dungeon-like hall. The first of the Death Eater trials was set to begin with a bang: Lucius Malfoy, his son Draco, and his wife Narcissa all stood accused of various crimes. Subtle maneuvering on the part of the Malfoy lawyers had finagled a 'family trial', one of the few of its kind in Wizengamot history, and all the participants save the defendants eagerly awaited the event.

What stymied a good many of the council was the fact that only two chairs were set below, side by side on the floor. Were there not _three_ to be charged? Craning their necks in search of a chair they'd overlooked, heads swiveled all over the room.

Interrogator Albert Runcorn, recently promoted to Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement when Yaxley was discovered to be a prominent Death Eater and arrested, stood up and banged a gavel on his tabletop. "Bring in the prisoners," he said in a deep, commanding tone.

A door below opened and two men sandwiched between aurors were brought in; the aurors pressed them into the chairs and used their wands to magically bind them there, then they faded into the background. Draco, no longer arrogant, sat looking petrified and gaunt as if he hadn't eaten all week since the battle at Hogwarts. His jaw quivered as he struggled to be brave. In contrast, Lucius sat up straight and proud, his face an emotionless mask. Even dirty, disheveled, and quaking inside, he presented himself as a _Malfoy_, as an example for Draco. He whispered something to his son, who glanced over at him with a ray of hope piercing his gloom.

"The prisoners will not speak to each other!" called out Runcorn.

Lucius' lip curled ever so slightly and he hissed, "He's my _son_!" The word echoed lightly through the deathly silent chamber.

The gavel slammed down again. Tall and strongly built, Runcorn was an imposing figure, but being some distance from Malfoy quelled the intimidation factor. "The rules will be observed."

No one seemed to be listening at that point. All eyes shifted back to the lone door that had creaked open again; in an unsteady gait, supported by Mr. Norman, Narcissa slowly walked in and took a seat on a bench at the lowest level, only meters from her husband and son. At the sight of them she gasped, putting her hand to her mouth, tears filling her eyes.

If Lucius hadn't been restrained, he would have jumped from his seat to run to her, regardless of the lack of decorum it might present. She was alive! And she wasn't tied down like a common criminal…why _wasn't_ she here with Draco and himself? He caught sight of Norman standing beside her, one hand on her shoulder, and instantly understood. Father's best lawyer had worked some bureaucratic magic! He suppressed a triumphant smirk.

As if there hadn't been a sufficient stir, the entrance at the top tier of the room opened and Kingsley Shacklebolt, dressed in flamboyant purple robes reminiscent of Dumbledore himself, strode in. The entire attention of the assembled body moved from the lowest to the highest level.

Runcorn looked torn, not knowing what to do. Should he abdicate his post as Interrogator in favor of Shacklebolt? He'd only held this position as Head of Magical Law Enforcement for a week—a job he'd frankly been shocked to have offered to him, what with the caterwauling of wizards like Arthur Weasley against him. Was it _his_ fault the Death Eaters and Dolores Umbridge had basically taken over the Ministry? How was he to know Yaxley was a Death Eater? Like any good employee, he'd done his best to get ahead by following lawful orders given to him by superiors, orders now deemed improper and worthy of revilement. Because of the bad taste it left in some people's mouths, he'd have to work harder to prove himself deserving of this position.

"Minister Shacklebolt, have you come to preside over the trials?" he finally asked, shuffling a stack of parchments, one for each Malfoy.

"No, Runcorn, I've got more than enough to keep me busy, but I heard the trial was about to begin. I think it necessary to explain something." One long hand extended out to point at Narcissa, and the collective heads of the entire council followed his lead. "Harry Potter came to see me three days ago. He told a most interesting story of how Mrs. Malfoy saved his life."

Several gasps went up, even a few involuntary grunts of surprise.

Shacklebolt smiled, enjoying their consternation. "In the forest when Voldemort—I'd like us all to use his name, if you please—when Voldemort tried to kill Harry again with the killing curse, it didn't take. He sent Mrs. Malfoy to check on the young man, she claimed Harry was dead in order to spare him from an onslaught of Death Eaters, and the rest is history. Harry has requested that any and all charges against her be dropped and her name cleared, and we at the Ministry agree with him. Narcissa Malfoy is a free woman."

Lucius' eyes shone with more than adoration for his wife; they shone with relief and gratitude. Even if he were to waste away in Azkaban, she was safe and secure, he needn't worry over her. Draco, terrified as he was, looked at his mother and smiled for her good fortune. Narcissa had eyes only for her two men, as if afraid this may be the last time she laid eyes upon them and must memorize every contour of their features. Her gaze never wavered from them, not to acknowledge Shacklebolt, not to face the crowd who were trying to decide upon the appropriate reaction and finally settled on polite applause.

Clapping along with the rest, Runcorn scowled slightly—not because the Malfoy woman was to go free, for he had no stomach for imprisoning pureblood women on charges that, in his opinion, seemed blatantly trumped up. Rather, it irked him that the Minister would break in on the proceedings to make his announcement instead of quietly approaching him anytime in the past _three freaking days_ to advise him of the turn of events. Hell, he'd have settled for a memo! But no, now he ended up looking like an idiot who didn't know his arse from a hole in the ground!

"Thank you, Minister Shacklebolt, for your splendid news. Mrs. Malfoy, you may go, or if you prefer you may stay and observe the trial." He unconsciously stroked his curly black beard as he awaited her response.

"I will stay," said Narcissa in a high, clear voice.

Shacklebolt nodded an acknowledgement and headed back out the way he'd come. Runcorn faced the defendants once more. Best to start with the boy and work up to the father. "Draco Malfoy, you are accused of providing entry for Death Eaters into Hogwarts School last year and with—" He stopped to peer hard at the parchment, where the line saying 'attempted murder' had been crossed out and initialed by a Ministry representative, likely on account of slick tactics by the Malfoy team of lawyers. "—and with reckless endangerment of Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley."

An air of pure elation emanated from Narcissa and Lucius; Draco's charges weren't serious enough to earn him a long stint in Azkaban, six months tops! The youth seemed unaware of his good luck.

"How do you plead?" intoned Runcorn.

Draco caught his mother's eye, noted the tiniest nod of her head. He glanced sidelong at his father, who whispered, "Tell them why you did it."

"Mr. Malfoy, I've warned you about talking to fellow prisoners," boomed out Runcorn. "Draco Malfoy, your plea."

The young man cleared his throat, though when he spoke it was in a bare squeak. "G-guilty. But I only did it because L—Voldemort said he'd kill me and my family if I didn't kill Dumbledore, and they were supposed to help. I couldn't do it, though. And I didn't mean for Katie or Weasley to get hurt." With his lank hair falling over his thin white face, he looked younger than his years, like a lost waif appealing to the crowd with frightened round grey eyes.

"And which of these Death Eaters killed Dumbledore, then?"

"None of the ones I let in…it was Professor Snape." He hung his head, disgusted with himself. His godfather didn't deserve to have his name trashed, especially not by his godson.

Runcorn nodded. He'd heard what everyone considered a wild story last year, the Boy Who Lived claiming Snape had killed Dumbledore, he'd seen it from the tower where he was immobilized. If his memory served, Potter had ranted about Draco Malfoy being there…he'd been ordered under pain of death to murder the old wizard or some such thing. At the time it had seemed utter rubbish, as though a mere boy could defeat the greatest wizard alive. All in all it did coincide with what the boy was saying now.

He scanned the crowd, taking in their expressions. Most had heard the same story, he was sure, and many members wore pity rather than condemnation. "All in favor of securing Draco Malfoy in Azkaban for a period of six months, raise your hands."

Less than a tenth of the witches and wizards responded. Most sat quietly, hands in their laps.

Runcorn hesitated. He couldn't let the boy off without any punishment whatsoever. "Show of hands: all in favor of a fine for Draco Malfoy."

Fully ninth tenths of the hands went up this time.

"Ten thousand galleons, to be paid within a two week period," read Runcorn off his approved list of penalties. "Failure to comply will result in an increased fine and possible time in Azkaban." He cracked the gavel to seal the judgment.

Suddenly the magical bindings holding Draco down disappeared. He sprang from his chair and ran to his mother, who stood up to embrace her only son. Many of the witches—and a good many wizards—looked upon the scene with tenderness, and quite a few teary eyes.

Getting back to business, Runcorn produced a third sheet of parchment, this one marked more extensively than either of the two previous pages. Several charges—among them bribery and extortion—had been stricken through and initialed, probably for lack of evidence and inability to prove…or due to the influence of Mr. Norman.

"Lucius Malfoy, you are charged with prison break, kidnapping, use of Unforgivable curses, aiding and abetting Voldemort during his reign of terror, and unknown counts of torture and murder of Muggles and wizards alike."

Lucius had expected a barrage of accusations, but at the last one his eyes grew round with shock. Where had _that_ come from? "Torture and murder? I've never killed anyone in my life! Whom am I purported to have tortured or murdered?" he demanded.

"The council has only been able to sort out a few instances of particular Death Eaters murdering particular citizens, so you are being charged with an unspecified—"

"This is preposterous!" Lucius snarled. He was revving up for a rant, and would have gone on had not Mr. Norman waved a hand that suggested he close his trap before he dug his grave deeper.

"Mr. Runcorn, my client has the right to know exactly what his alleged crimes are in order to refute them," purred the lawyer smoothly.

"Being a Death Eater is crime enough," retorted Runcorn.

"Hmm," replied Mr. Norman. "I wasn't aware that we now tried cases and assumed guilt by association rather than willful action on the part of the defendant."

"We follow the rule of law," snapped Runcorn.

"And the law allows that a man has the right to know exactly what he is accused of, not some generalized idea encompassing everything depraved," insisted the attorney.

Runcorn threw him a withering glare. "The charges stand. How do you plead?"

Lucius sat up a bit straighter. "Innocent of all but the prison break, for which my term was nearly up anyway." He hadn't meant it to sound insolent, yet it came off that way.

A quick review of Lucius' parchment showed he'd been given a sentence of fifteen months for breaking into the Department of Mysteries. He had, indeed, served most of that time. "Regardless, prison break is a crime. Getting on to the next charge, I have here a sworn statement given by Hermione Granger that alleges you kidnapped her, Harry Potter, and Ronald Weasley; she was tortured by means of the Cruciatus Curse, and you also tried to hand over Mr. Potter to Voldemort."

Lucius let out a deep breath he'd been holding. This was certainly going far worse than he'd hoped while he waited in the stinking hole of his cell, and it was rapidly going downhill. He got the feeling he might be headed back there any time now. _Damn that little mudblood bitch!_

"It was not I who kidnapped the bra—the youngsters, it was Fenrir Greyback. He brought them to the manor where my _sister-in-law_ Bellatrix Lestrange tortured Miss Granger."

"And you simply watched the spectacle, I suppose?"

Lucius opened his mouth, hesitated, then said in an even voice, "Yes. I couldn't prevent her from doing as she pleased."

"Did you enjoy watching it, Mr. Malfoy?" goaded Runcorn.

"No," ground out the other. "I don't like watching torture."

"What of trying to give Potter to Voldemort?" prompted Runcorn.

Another tiny bit of hope died in his chest. He'd desired to avoid that sticky subject. "My family's lives were at stake." It was all he could manage, not that it would matter. There was too much to try to dispute already and there were a shitload of allegations yet to answer…

Runcorn was happily flipping through a thick stack of papers that Lucius mistakenly took to be Hermione's statement. This was going swimmingly, better than Runcorn had dreamed possible. Now he'd prove he truly deserved this position! He stopped triumphantly, jabbing a thick finger down on the pages as he said, "Augustus Rookwood also has alleged that you used the Imperius Curse on Broderick Bode." In his haste to level the charge, Runcorn failed to note the year said curse had taken place, assuming it to be this year like everything else.

Forcing himself to be calm in the face of what would drive any sane wizard to violent acts, Lucius replied softly, "Rookwood has a talent for accusations that are completely unfounded. This is not the first time he's made bogus accusations against me, which have been proven false. Broderick Bode is dead, I hardly think it possible to Imperius him."

Flushing at being tripped up, Runcorn sniffed. "I'd forgotten. Do you also deny giving money, shelter, and aid to Voldemort and his Death Eaters in your own home?"

_Yes, I deny it wholeheartedly._ That was what should have come out when Lucius opened his mouth. Somehow it got sidelined and replaced with, "No, but I had no choice. Voldemort was threatening to kill me and my family."

"We always have a choice, Mr. Malfoy," said Runcorn. The fact that Malfoy denied most everything was irrelevant, he was obviously guilty. He was a _Death Eater_!

By now Lucius was searching out Mr. Norman, his eyes begging for some kind of help. He was allowed representation, after all. He'd never been foolish enough to think denial alone would save him; who would believe a proven Death Eater? Each minute of trial seemed to be adding an additional year to his sentence…or maybe an additional decade.

Mr. Norman walked over onto the floor beside Lucius. "Mr. Runcorn, aside from the acts conceded by my client, these charges can neither be proven nor disproven. It's one person's word against another, with only prejudice to steer the course. Mr. Malfoy has admitted to some of these accusations, though extenuating circumstances prevail. With your permission, I'd like to call a witness."

"By all means."

"I call as my witness Harry Potter."

Another ripple of gasps and surprised exclamations rang through the dungeon-like room. Once again the door at the top of the chamber opened. Harry shied a bit at all the eyes trained on him as he made his way down a set of stone steps, looking neither left nor right, until he stood on the floor. Mr. Norman smiled brightly as he approached the lad to shake his hand, leaning in close as if to embrace him, his elegant deep blue robe swirling about them both.

Whispering so only Harry could hear, Norman said, "You haven't forgotten our little chat, I hope. It would be a terrible shame if Hermione and Ron were indicted as accomplices to your crimes. Azkaban is a terrible place."

Harry stiffened, but his face remained impassive. A few days after speaking to Narcissa Malfoy and then Shacklebolt, he'd received a visit from this lawyer, a very interesting visit. He knew things he couldn't know. The man had apparently spoken to Hermione—whether under the influence of Veritaserum he couldn't say. Norman proceeded to make references to the fact that no one would lift a finger to imprison the Boy Who Lived To Dispatch Voldemort, despite his unlawful use of Unforgivables like using the Imperius on the Death Eater Travers and on goblins, and of using the Cruciatus on Amycus Carrow and Bellatrix. He'd gone on to say that Hermione and Ron, however, were accessories to these crimes, and the law wouldn't look so favorably on _them_. Even if they weren't convicted, it would hang over them for years, maybe forever, ruining their career plans.

If there existed any way to implicate his friends, even to make them out as the ones responsible, Harry had no doubt this two-faced lawyer would use it. Mr. Norman had assured him that all he needed to do was tell the truth. Even if it set Lucius Malfoy free, he'd only be _telling the truth_.

Mr. Norman turned Harry around to face the audience and gave him a friendly pat on the back. "Mr. Potter, tell us please, who captured you and took you, Miss Granger, and Mr. Weasley to Malfoy Manor?"

"That was Greyback, the werewolf," answered Harry.

"While there, did Mr. Malfoy torture any of you?"

Harry shook his head. Then, sensing the daggers coming his way from Norman, he said, "Bellatrix Lestrange used the Cruciatus on Hermione."

Runcorn interrupted from his seat in the stands. "And did Mr. Malfoy attempt to stop it?"

"I don't know, Bellatrix ordered us into the cellar," replied Harry, who was sure Malfoy couldn't have cared less what happened to Hermione. "But he couldn't have stopped it if he wanted to, he didn't have a wand."

Yet another surge of excitement passed through the council. A wizard of Malfoy's status without a wand?

Norman pressed on. "And why didn't he have a wand?"

"Because Voldemort took it from him right after breaking him out of prison. When I was escaping a horde of Death Eaters, Voldemort and I shot at each other and Malfoy's wand shattered."

"So Mr. Malfoy has not had a wand for approximately a year?" asked Norman.

"That's right."

Runcorn banged his gavel over the rustle of the crowd. "Alright, we've established then that Mr. Malfoy could not have used an Unforgivable without a wand, nor was he responsible for kidnapping. He did, however, try to hand you over to Voldemort."

"Yes, sir," agreed Harry. It took all he had to go on, the only thing prodding him was the mantra in his head: _It's the truth, it's the truth._ "But he'd been tortured by Voldemort quite a bit since the prison break, and his family had been threatened. I can understand why he was so desperate. He was afraid." Those three words felt delicious rolling off his tongue. Lucius Malfoy—pompous, intimidating ponce—was _afraid_.

Here Mr. Norman jumped in lest Runcorn decide to pursue another line of questioning. "Mr. Runcorn, esteemed council, because Mr. Malfoy feared for his life and the lives of his family, and because he had no wand with which to protect them, he had no alternative but to allow Voldemort and the Death Eaters free reign of his manor. He was an unwilling accessory, practically a captive himself. Being a wanted man, wandless, he was virtually housebound. When was it—and how was it—he was supposed to have tortured or murdered Muggles or wizards under these conditions?"

Runcorn was becoming agitated. Three people on trial, two of whom had already virtually escaped justice, and now the third was slipping through his fingers. "The fact remains that Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater!"

"I am a Death Eater no more!" shouted Lucius, startling himself and all the others with his vehemence. "I joined out of foolishness, not from a desire to harm people! My allegiance to Voldemort, weak as it was even then, died long ago when I saw the methods he employed not only against his enemies but against his followers; only fear kept me his slave. I couldn't leave, not alive at any rate…the Dark Mark bound me to him." How it shamed him to admit such a thing in front of all these gaping peasants!

The gavel in Runcorn's hand stayed poised in midair, ready to drop, yet it moved not. Once more Norman leapt at the chance to speak, appealing to the throng with plaintive gestures.

"My friends, what is a Death Eater? At first go we'd be tempted to say a murderer, a thug, a completely despicable person devoid of all morality. And some of them are, make no mistake, yet haven't we seen heinous crimes committed by Muggles and by wizards who were _not_ Death Eaters? Likewise, is it not possible that some of those branded by the Dark Mark are also branded as evil when in fact they've done nothing you or I wouldn't have done in their situation?"

Council members muttered to one another, heads bobbed. One member raised her voice to ask, "But the idea of pureblood superiority is espoused in their ranks. Malfoy is known for being a supremacist!"

"I suppose he is," answered Norman. He strolled up closer to the benches and looked up benignly at the crowd. "And I could name a dozen_ in this room alone_ who feel the same way about blood purity, yet they are neither wicked nor Death Eaters." His gaze casually drifted to Runcorn, who shifted uncomfortably, then the gaze moved on around the room. "If we begin to imprison witches and wizards for their beliefs rather than their actions, where does it stop? Who determines what thoughts or ideals are acceptable and which are punishable by a stint in Azkaban? Dare you imagine the consequences of establishing 'thought police'?"

He paused to give the council time to debate among themselves. Another member, an elderly wizard, scrunched up his face in thought, then asked, "Isn't pureblood mania the cause of the war?"

"Is it?" asked Norman as he paced slowly up and down the small area of the floor. "No, blood purity has never been the cause of this war; a madman's lust for power is behind it all. Once pureblood young men were duped into joining him by promising rule of purebloods, the die had been cast, there was no way out except death. Did many of these men fight and kill, torture and commit atrocities—resoundingly, yes. But there were those who did not, whose only crime was in being stupid enough to become a follower, to become branded. Should they be tarred with the same brush as the murderers because of their association?" He made a motion to Harry. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy was caught at Hogwarts School. Can you tell me what you saw him doing there the night of the great battle?"

"He was pushing through the mass of people screaming for Draco," said Harry quietly. "He didn't even try to fight."

With a broad, dramatic sweep of his arm Mr. Norman whirled from Lucius back to the crowd. "I submit to you that Lucius Malfoy has done nothing worthy of Azkaban. He is a man who was trapped in a hopeless dilemma, incapable of performing even the simplest act without fear of severe retribution. Now, as a free man, he has the capacity to do a world of good in a world that desperately needs rebuilding."

The translation, not missed by many being: Imprison Malfoy and you effectively cut off a huge supply of galleons to hospital, school, and businesses at a time when it is direly needed.

Runcorn's gavel cracked on the table. "It has been demonstrated that Mr. Malfoy is innocent of kidnapping and the Unforgivables. Mr. Potter vouches for Malfoy concerning his inability to fight the Death Eaters or Voldemort for lack of a wand, which would also preclude wanton murder or torture. The only remaining charge is prison break. All those in favor of returning Mr. Malfoy to Azkaban to serve out the rest of his term, raise your hands."

Only a smattering of hands went up. In light of everything they'd learned, and the prospect of losing the greatest benefactor in Britain, it seemed prudent to waive those months and get on with life.

"All in favor of a fine to cover the sentence?"

Nearly every hand flew up.

"Lucius Malfoy, you are fined in the amount of fifty thousand galleons. You are free to go." The gavel came down and Lucius' bonds dissolved.

It was over. Finally, it was truly over. Lucius got up stiffly and was almost shoved back into the chair by Narcissa throwing herself against him, sobbing with relief. Draco stood at a respectful distance until Lucius called him over for a public hug, one of the acts frowned upon by the Malfoy rules of conduct. It never felt so good to disobey those precepts as it did now.


	5. Confrontations

Death Eater No More—Chapter Five (Confrontations)

Time passes slowly when one waits. Fortunately for Severus, he'd had ample practice in waiting, so it bothered him not at all to sit at the kitchen table, feet propped up, leaning back in his chair and staring impassively at the doorway. The little shit had to come home sometime…unless he'd been staying at the Weasley's hut! Merlin, why hadn't he thought of that!

He forced himself to relax. No, if he knew Potter—and he did—the twit would want time alone after his 'heroics' and having half the population panting after him like lap dogs. The Weasley residence would offer no peace or quiet in which to reflect.

Severus snorted. As if Potter would actually reflect on anything more profound than the latest Quidditch broom! Still, he felt certain the brat would make an appearance soon, and he'd rarely been wrong when judging Potter's habits.

It was well over three hours by the time Harry arrived at 12 Grimmauld Place. He'd had Ron and Hermione help him dismantle the booby traps set by Moody, making the place somewhat less traumatic and annoying. If only they could figure a way to rid the house of Mrs. Black's screeching portrait it wouldn't be a bad place to live. Yes, the memories of Sirius tormented him at times, but surely he'd learn to find them comforting, or at least not so sad.

Harry walked into the kitchen, shrieked in alarm, and stumbled back against the wall. A basket hanging there popped off the wall and bounced across the floor. It wasn't bad enough he'd helped to free Lucius Malfoy—now he was being haunted by Snape's ghost!

"W-why—you—what—" he sputtered.

"Articulate as always," drawled Snape, dropping his feet to the floor. As the blood started to rush back into his legs, the sensation of pins and needles pricking relentlessly assailed him, though he chose to ignore it. It barely qualified as pain compared to what he was used to. It did, however, preclude standing up, since he had no feeling in his limbs.

"What are you doing here? Why are you haunting me?" exclaimed Potter.

"To haunt you, I'd have to be a ghost. And if I _were_ a ghost, I'm sure I'd find better things to do with my time than hanging around this dump," snapped Severus.

"And your house is so much better," retorted Harry.

With so many reasons to slap Potter it seemed impossible to settle on one, Severus lurched to his feet, his legs crumpled, and he crashed right back into the chair. Damnation, thwarted again! "Being elevated to sainthood hasn't enriched your disposition, I see. But then, it must get tiresome being worshipped."

Harry's whole head colored at the snide comment. Only a _live_ Snape could be so maddening. At the realization he burst out, "You're alive! How can that be? I saw you die!"

Snape's lips curled into his quintessential sneer. "Spare me the theatrics, Potter. As insufferable, snotty, self-consumed, and dimwitted as you are, I nonetheless foolishly held out hope that you'd have the decency to try to heal me instead of leaving me to bleed to death. That was my mistake for overestimating you."

Harry stepped in closer, mesmerized by his professor back from the dead. "So you didn't die?"

"Obviously. Even _you_ should be able to grasp that simple concept." Snape rolled his eyes. "I do hope it hasn't inconvenienced your majesty." _Moron_. Lest the dunderhead continue to ogle him like roadkill at a picnic, he thought it wise to enlighten the dork. "I summoned my sister and brother with a patronus, and they saved me."

"Oh." Well, that was…unnerving. Harry didn't like Snape—hated him with an irrational passion, in fact—but he hadn't meant to leave him to die. "I'm sorry, I thought…"

"Whatever," growled Severus. The Gryffindor ability _to think_ was debatable at best. "As you may or may not have guessed, this is not a social call. It's patently evident from your own cluelessness why everyone believes me dead; I'd like to know why they still believe me a Death Eater."

Harry attempted a half-hearted grin. "Oh, that. Well, when I met Voldemort in the Great Hall, I told him about you and everybody heard it. I don't know why it wasn't publicized."

Pause. _There's got to be more to it, the boy must have a brain hidden somewhere under that unruly mop he calls hair._ Snape tapped his fingers impatiently on the table. _Any minute he'll come out with a respectable reason for why he hasn't cleared my name._

Harry merely stared back at him with a mixture of apparent idiocy, defiance, and irritation. Why was Snape still here? He'd told him what he wanted to know. Should he order him out of the house? No, that would be asking for a supreme hexing, and he was no match for Snape.

"I'm waiting, Potter."

"Waiting for what?"

A plethora of expletives tried to force their way past his pinched lips as he struggled to control his hand that twitched wildly at his wand. Why, oh why did he ever give this fool the benefit of the doubt? Severus modulated his voice with supreme effort. "Is it completely beyond your scope of existence to try—just _try_, Potter—to put yourself in my shoes? Everyone, including every auror in Britain, believes I murdered Dumbledore. They think I am a Death Eater to the core, and you are the only one who can prove otherwise. If I so much as step foot on a public street, I may find myself arrested and shipped off to Azkaban."

"But they can check your memories, can't they?" asked Harry. "That's how I knew you weren't as evil as we all thought."

"I'm touched by your sympathetic generosity," sneered Snape. "If you recall, your dear godfather was whisked away without benefit of trial. With the wizarding world so certain of my guilt, I dare say I'd fare no better."

For the briefest moment he could swear he saw a glint in Potter's eye, and not a benevolent one. He didn't fear this mediocre child before him, he could easily escape and apparate away before aurors arrived, but he honestly would like the freedom to go about a relatively normal life. It sickened him to be in a position of depending on the Brat Who Lived for virtually his life—look how depending on the dunce in the Shrieking Shack had turned out—but he had little choice. After all he'd done for Potter over the years, it wasn't asking much.

To his great surprise, Harry shrugged and nodded. "I'll contact Minister Shacklebolt tomorrow and have him meet me at Hogwarts. He can view your memories himself and that should clear you. Alright?"

Stunned, Severus gaped at him for several seconds. Potter was agreeing to help him without asking for anything in return…for a Slytherin, it was a foreign concept practiced only with very close friends. And even then it was implicitly understood that a favor may be requested in the future. "That will be satisfactory. How shall I know when it's safe for me?"

"I guess I can ask the Minister to owl you or something."

"That would be nice—along with front page coverage in the _Daily Prophet_ declaring my innocence." No way was he going to be content with an owl that may well be followed by aurors!

"I'll tell him," said Harry. _Now will you please leave?_

Severus got up and moved around the table. If Potter did as he promised, he'd be a free man instead of a pawn; he'd been enthralled so long to Voldemort and Dumbledore he wasn't sure he'd know how to act. Though it killed him a bit inside to shove the words from his lips, he did manage a fairly benign rendition of, "Thank you."

Before Harry got over his slack-jawed consternation, Snape had passed him, gone down the hall, and out the front door.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

A house elf answered Rabastan's knock. He shouldn't be surprised, he knew, yet he always imagined the man to be holed up like a hermit, alone and friendless, slowly pining away. Well, he was hiding in a remote corner of Scotland, so he wasn't completely off base.

"I'm looking for Varden Lestrange," said Rabastan.

The elf hadn't even time to turn around when a man of sixty crept into view, his graying hair hanging shaggily round a face that bore the same nervous, hunted look as the man he addressed. "What do you want?" he demanded. He eyed Rabastan and Nott suspiciously.

Rabastan smirked. "My, my, Uncle, you're a hard one to pin down. I've visited all the properties that used to be held by Lestranges and come up empty till now."

Varden motioned the elf out of the way so he could move in closer to peer into the darkly bearded face. "Rabastan?" he asked hesitantly.

The younger man nodded. "Aren't you going to invite us in?"

The older wizard looked as if he wanted to deny the request, but changed his mind and stepped aside. Rabastan and Nott trooped in looking much the worse for wear, their heads swiveling about to check out the place. The house wasn't large by Lestrange standards, only four bedrooms, though sufficient for their needs.

Rabastan waved a hand lazily in the direction of the staircase. "We'd like to get settled in, take a nice hot bath, and shave. Then we can talk about how you're going to help us free Rodolphus from Azkaban."

His jaw set angrily, Varden retorted, "Who invited you to stay here? And I want no part of prison break."

"You sold my property and that of my brother, _Uncle_," snapped Rabastan with fire in his eyes. "You owe me."

"You were both sentenced to Azkaban for life, you had no heirs. What was I supposed to do?"

"Be that as it may, I'll give you some time to come up with the money from the sale," said Rabastan, then added imperiously, "I could let you keep a small part of it for your services."

"I heard you busted out of prison; I thought they caught you again," said Varden gruffly. His expression clearly said he wished his nephew had been caught.

"Long story short, the dark lord broke out a bunch of us Death Eaters twice. Rodolphus got captured again when the dark lord fell. In case you were wondering, we stayed at Bella's old family home during those times, only it appears new blood wards have been put up. I suspect only those of the Black line can get in now, so you'll be hosting us. I'm tired of sleeping outdoors and watching over my shoulder."

Varden, afraid his refusal might bring on consequences he'd prefer not to face, didn't dispute the matter of lodging any further. He hadn't become a Death Eater like his brother—the boys' father—and he'd never deemed it necessary to sharpen his dueling skills. If he pushed the other man too far, he'd be compelled to fight; there existed no doubt in his mind he didn't stand a chance against Rabastan, let alone a second Death Eater.

Grudgingly he muttered, "You can stay. Nels will show you to your rooms."

"We'd also like a few changes of clothing."

"Fine," growled the other. "I'll send Nels out to buy some robes."

Rabastan smiled blandly, though it didn't touch his eyes, which pierced the older man in a most disquieting fashion. "Why don't you try to think up a plan for rescuing my brother while we get cleaned up." It wasn't a question.

"I could get in huge trouble for helping you do that!" Varden balked. "Why should I?"

Rabastan was already walking behind Nott toward the staircase. He paused, turned, and glared back at his uncle. "I think we both know the answer to that. My memory is fully intact, even if you've tried to forget." He spun around and continued up the stairs.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Lucius awoke to an odd sound. Blearily he cracked open his eyes and reached over to Narcissa, or to where she ought to be, anyway. The sheet was cold, his wife gone. This first night out of Azkaban, a totally free man at long last, had been so wonderful up to now, where could she be?

There came that noise again from the bathroom, and this time he recognized it for what it was. Remembering what Rodolphus had said about Narcissa in the infirmary, he bolted upright and threw back the covers. He stumbled into the bathroom, wide eyed, stomach clenching so hard he thought he might join his wife in vomiting.

"Narcissa?" He approached cautiously and laid his hand on her back. His other hand swept her hair away from her face as she hovered over the toilet.

She looked up at him through glassy eyes. "Honey," she whispered.

"I thought they made you well at St. Mungo's," Lucius murmured as he encircled her with his arm. His lips pressed against her temple. If she had contracted a terrible disease, he'd rather die with her than shy away from her.

Narcissa shook her head with tears running from her eyes from the exertion of disgorging every particle from her stomach. "I wish your father or Severus were here. They always knew what to do."

Thinking of Severus made her burst into tears of sorrow. She hadn't been as close to him as Lucius was, but they'd been friends for over twenty years, he was Draco's godfather…he was the reason Draco existed at all. When all the mainstream infertility remedies had failed, Severus had spent many months inventing one of his own at Lucius' request. The potion he'd developed had repaired her reproductive organs enough to get pregnant; they owed him so much.

"Sweetheart, it's alright," soothed Lucius, holding her and rocking gently back and forth. "If you know what's wrong, we can consult Father's portrait. Maybe he can help."

Clinging to her husband for dear life, Narcissa tried to quell her hysteria. Why hadn't she thought of that? Probably because while Voldemort held the family hostage in their own home, she'd tried to stay out of the way as much as possible, she hadn't spent much time in the main sitting room where Abraxas' portrait was located. "I didn't want to tell you like this," she squeaked.

Lucius braced himself. Perhaps the doctors at St. Mungo's had informed her she was going to die! No, no, please not that! "Tell me, love."

"Lucius, I'm pregnant."

There was a long pause while the wizard let it sink in, swirl around his brain, and drop into the 'reject' bin. "I'm sorry, Narcissa, I don't think I heard you correctly. I thought you said you were _pregnant_." He snickered just a little.

Narcissa drew away from him and stared into his adorable grey eyes that held far too much suffering and anger. She hadn't realized until now how cold they might appear to someone who didn't know him as she did. "I did. I am."

Another pause, this time of utter shock. "How—how can that be?"

The witch lowered the toilet seat and sat down with Lucius still grasping her hands in astonishment. "After your escape from Azkaban, the dark lord tortured you so much; I was so afraid I'd lose you and Draco both, that I'd have nothing left of you. I convinced Severus to make up the potion—the one I used to conceive Draco. I've been taking it all year."

"But it's dangerous, Severus said you shouldn't use it again," Lucius broke in, becoming more worried as his dismay dissipated. "Are you sure it isn't the potion making you sick?"

"I'm sure. They told me at St. Mungo's I'm carrying a child."

Lucius pinched his lips tightly. That meant soon enough the word would be spread all over the wizarding world! And knowing how gossip had a way of mutating into fantastic stories, there'd no doubt be controversy over which of the Death Eaters had fathered the whelp, fully discounting the fact that he and Narcissa had made an Unbreakable Vow of fidelity at their wedding. The notion of what his darling wife would have to endure infuriated and sickened him.

"How far along are you?"

"Only a month."

Lucius sighed, not even knowing how he felt about this news, but he wrapped his wife in his arms and pulled her to a standing position where he could engulf her with his love. "It's okay, sweetheart, it'll be alright. I'll go talk to Father and see what he suggests we do for the sickness. Why don't you go lie down?"

Narcissa rinsed out her mouth, then walked with him to the bed; she sat down and he yanked on a pair of black pajama bottoms then started to turn away. "Lucius, are you happy about our child?"

He turned back and forced a smile. "Of course I am, love."

As he trudged down the corridor to the stairway, Lucius contemplated the impending arrival of the baby, _his_ baby. He'd lied when he told Narcissa he was happy, and he hated himself for _not_ feeling overjoyed. He'd been ecstatic when she finally became pregnant with Draco, why was this different?

But it _was_ different, everything had changed. His life's struggle for pureblood rule had proved a monumental waste of time and energy that had dragged him and his loved ones through hell. The dark lord was dead, and good riddance to bad rubbish. He was free of the evil wizard and free of Azkaban, but the Malfoy name had been hauled through the mire, they'd lost much of the respect they once enjoyed. For all he knew, they might be ostracized by the public now. Draco had been made to suffer so much; it would kill him to see his baby suffer because of him as well.

At the same time, with Voldemort gone he had the opportunity to pick up his fractured life and go on with hope for the future…hope was something he'd given up on a long time ago. Maybe this child was a sign of that hope, of newness—a fresh start, a reason to overcome all they'd endured instead of wallowing in self-pity. Maybe it really was a blessed thing.

He was grinning as he meandered into the main sitting room and up to the fireplace where his mother's and father's portraits hung side by side. The frame housing Abraxas stood empty at the moment, for he was in his wife's frame snuggling up to her, both of them looking blissful in sleep. Abraxas held the petite blond woman tightly in his arms as if he never wanted to let her go.

Lucius' grin widened. His mother had died when he was only two, he'd gotten to know her only from her portrait, which had hung in his father's room. Abraxas had died only a few years ago, and when they'd hung the portraits together he'd wasted no time in showing his wife how much he'd missed her.

"Father," said Lucius, his voice sounding loud in the quiet twilight of the approaching dawn.

Abraxas opened his grey eyes and blinked a few times. His portrait had been painted when he was roughly the same age as Lucius was now, and aside from his short hair their resemblance was so close it was staggering. "Yes, son?"

"Narcissa requires your help—"

"Oh, is she ill?" interrupted Thalia, leaning forward and looking concerned.

"Mother, if you'd let me finish—"

"Lucius," drawled Abraxas in a threatening tone that used to bring fear when he was a boy, and even as a man had given him pause. "Show respect for your mother."

"I'm sorry, Mother," he acquiesced. "Yes, she's ill, but in a good way. I just found out she's with child." He waited while his parents searched him in amazement, then broke out in uncharacteristic exclamations of joy.

His father, breaking into a broad, handsome grin to match his son's, remarked, "Honestly, that's the last thing I'd have expected to hear, but it's wonderful. How did it happen?"

Lucius rolled his eyes. "If you don't know after having three children of your own, I can't help you there."

"Very funny, son. I _meant_, she's infertile…" He raised his pale eyebrows.

"Severus had been giving her his special potion all year," explained Lucius. "Anyway, she's been vomiting quite a lot and we hoped you'd tell us what to give her like you did with Draco."

Abraxas furrowed his brow. Last evening when the family came home they'd filled him in on the events of the past several days, the death of Voldemort, their incarceration and trial. It saddened him to know Severus had been killed. For being a halfblood, he was such a loyal, intelligent young man, one worthy of associating with purebloods.

"There hasn't been any _hebben soduer_ in the manor since Draco was born. The formula and directions are in my red notebook in my library. It only takes a day to make, if you get on it right away Narcissa can take it tonight. I've found it to be the best remedy available."

"If he has the proper ingredients at hand," chimed in Thalia. "Of course, he can send Sisidy when the shops open. Or she could even buy some of the potion."

"It's better when you make it yourself so it's done right," argued Abraxas gently.

"Only because you were so good at potions," beamed his wife. "No offense, Lucius, but I'm not sure how good you are. Your father frequently complained to me of your less than perfect grades."

"No offense taken," smiled Lucius. He nodded to them both. "Thank you, Father, I'll start it right away. Sorry to disturb you."

Thalia laughed, a high melody of sheer happiness. "For spectacular news like a grandchild on the way, it's no imposition, sweetie."

Her son smirked and ducked his head. While it would embarrass him for others to hear, he liked his mother's affectionate nicknames for him.

As he headed back up the stairs, he no longer felt ambivalent about the birth of a brand new Malfoy. Rather, he looked forward to it with a zest and eagerness he'd forgotten he possessed.


	6. Reunion

Death Eater No More—Chapter Six (Reunion)

(**Author's Note**: According to HP Lexicon and Wikipedia, it is unspecified and unclear whether a wand is necessary to Apparate. I choose to believe it is NOT necessary.)

"Draco, are you ready?" Lucius dusted down his handsome deep brown robes, thinking even as he did so what a waste of time, seeing as they were about to use the floo network. Nonetheless, old habits die hard. He smoothed back his hair and adjusted his cuffs as he waited for his son, then began to tap his cane impatiently on the floor.

Draco came ambling into the main sitting room with his hands in his pockets and a sullen, anxious expression on his face. "Can't we send Sisidy out to buy them?" he whined.

"Stand up straight, remove your hands from your pockets, and behave like a Malfoy," instructed his father. "House elves are not allowed to handle wands, as you well know, and regardless, I won't have just any old wand."

"Yeah, I know. 'The wand chooses the wizard'," Draco recited, rolling his eyes.

"Don't get smart, son," warned Lucius. "We'll floo to the Leaky Cauldron and walk over to Ollivander's from there."

Before thinking, Draco spun on his father, eyes glaring daggers. "Ollivander's? Father, are you insane? We'll be lucky if he doesn't have us arrested for trespassing! Or have you forgotten that we held him captive in our cellar and the dark lord tortured him in our house?"

"Yes, the _dark lord_ tortured him, we did not." It wasn't as if Lucius hadn't considered the consequences of this excursion, but they couldn't go the rest of their lives without wands. Damn it, they weren't filthy Muggles! Gregorivitch was dead, there was no one else within a thousand miles or more. Though it seemed likely Ollivander wouldn't be in a forgiving mood, what choice did they have? They'd have to find a way to persuade him, that's all. _That_ was a Malfoy specialty. "Come along."

Draco glanced up helplessly at Abraxas' portrait over the fireplace, silently begging for aid. They'd been very close while Abraxas was alive, Draco had every reason to anticipate the older man intervening on his behalf as he'd done numerous times in Draco's childhood.

"Lucius, your son is right," said Abraxas just before Lucius stepped into the flames. "Don't make things worse."

Lucius, his lips pressed into a thin white line, took a pace backward and dropped the pinch of floo powder into its urn. He couldn't decide whether to slap the stuffing out of the teenaged brat for enlisting allies behind his back or whether to hear his father out before reacting. With a practiced blank stare he gazed up at Abraxas, saying nothing.

Abraxas smirked to himself. Lucius had changed so little over the years, always wary and suspicious beneath that mask he wore. "What do you suppose you'll encounter in Diagon Alley? Certainly not citizens brimming with love for the Malfoys. As Death Eaters who have escaped justice—"

"That is uncalled for!" snapped Lucius.

"Do not interrupt me, son. As I was saying, people will perceive you and Draco in this way for some time to come. There's no avoiding it or pretending it isn't so. All you can do is wait it out—and while you're waiting, it won't hurt to donate to charities and spread the wealth for worthy causes. Do whatever you can to have the name publicized in a favorable light."

"That's all well and good, Father, I appreciate your advice, but what about _wands_?" asked Lucius single-mindedly.

"I'd heard many years ago of a wandmaker by the name of Conn in Salem," said Abraxas, noting the other two men's eyebrows lift in surprise.

"Salem—as in America?" exclaimed Draco.

"Where else?" drawled Lucius in a bored tone. Inside, his heart jumped. They wouldn't have to face the witches and wizards eager to condemn them! While he didn't dare show his excitement, the news made him slightly giddy. He hadn't been looking forward to Diagon Alley any more than Draco was.

Abraxas smiled down on his son and grandson. "I'd recommend waiting a couple of hours, else you'll be dreadfully early and the shop may not be open. Let me go check with my grandfather and I'll bring you back the directions…"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Father, I'm old enough to apparate by myself, I don't need you to hold my hand," Draco sulked as he literally yanked his arm out of his sire's grip.

"I wasn't holding your hand," Lucius returned sharply, tempted to grab the whelp by the hair this time around. What the hell was wrong with Draco lately? It wasn't like him to be disrespectful and surly to his father, and it wasn't as if this was a pleasure cruise for either of them. "It's preferable that we arrive in the same place, since I don't plan to spend my day searching for you."

Without further argument he laid his hand on Draco's shoulder and gave a squeeze that made the boy wince. In an instant they'd gone from the porch; they appeared at a point in northernmost Scotland, then rapidly to Iceland, Greenland, Baffin Island, Quebec, and finally Salem.

Bleary-eyed and looking fit to hurl, Draco panted as he bent over holding his knees. He'd never apparated so far or so many times in a row, and he felt absolutely wretched. "Are we there yet?" he moaned.

Lucius, who'd apparated to America several times when Voldemort was based in Florida, nodded numbly. The Dark Mark had aided him—carried him almost—during those times, making it a simple, single apparition. Right now he wasn't feeling any better than his son.

Leaning on his cane for support, Lucius paused until most of the nausea had passed, then he looked around him. They'd landed in a wooded park, with tall buildings visible not far away. Recalling what Abraxas had told him, he searched for clues to their location. At last he pointed south. "This way."

Dodging inquisitive Muggle stares, they strode along the streets like the well-bred wizards they were, heads held high, Lucius' cane tapping on the sidewalk as a subtle warning that this might be used as a weapon. Without his wand he felt positively naked and vulnerable, and he resented the Muggles for making him feel this way.

It wasn't long before they found the tavern/restaurant that served as an entryway into the wizarding world, the Salem version of Diagon Alley. Stepping through put them immediately more at ease, immersed in their own world once more, where witches and wizards dressed appropriately in robes instead of silly Muggle rags, and the whole atmosphere screamed 'normal'. Even so, rather than spend hours roaming up and down soaking in the novelty, Lucius opted to hurry. They could always come back to shop at their leisure another time.

"Excuse me, sir," Lucius called to a man dressed in robes nearly as elegant as his own. The man halted and turned to him. "Might you direct me to Conn, the wandmaker?"

The wizard cocked his head and grinned. "British, huh? We don't see too many of you here. Go on down this street, turn left at the crossroads, and Conn's shop is half a block down."

"Thank you."

"My pleasure." The man tipped his top hat and sauntered off.

Lucius and Draco, following the directions, soon stood in front of a very old, bland, tan façade; the plain wooden sign waving in the breeze read _Conn's Wands_. A bell tinkled over their heads as they opened the door, signaling the proprietor.

"May I help you?" From seemingly nowhere, a woman of indeterminate age now stood not two meters away, her red robe strangely billowing in a complete absence of wind.

"We're looking for Conn. We need to purchase wands," said Lucius pleasantly, though inwardly it chafed to have to explain such a simple thing to an underling. Of course they were here for wands, it was a freaking wand shop!

"This way," she responded, leading them to a long wall not so different from Ollivander's, packed with hundreds upon hundreds of boxes. Smiling cryptically she added, "I must assume this is not your first wand."

"Correct," agreed Lucius, growing agitated. "Our wands were destroyed. If you'd be kind enough to fetch Conn—"

"Oh, forgive me. I'm Abigail Conn, I own this shop." Her demeanor dared him to make something of the fact that she was a woman. Those foreigners and their sexist ways!

To her utter dismay and chagrin, Lucius extended a hand. "I'm pleased to meet you." He wisely declined to offer his name in the event she'd heard of the war in Britain and his family's involvement. No need to open that nasty little can of worms.

Abigail shook his hand and Draco's, and as she did so a disjointed picture formed in her mind. Clairvoyance ran strong in the Conn blood, and it hadn't skipped her. Unfortunately, it rarely gave her a full picture, only snippets and pieces. These men, while not fugitives per se, had been in their share of trouble. She gasped as images of Lucius being tortured by a frightening, snake-like wizard shot through her mind. She jerked her hand away from Draco.

"Are you alright?" asked Lucius.

"Fine, Mr. Malfoy," Abigail clipped, trying to dispel the image.

Draco glanced over at his father with the same unnerved expression Lucius wore. How had she known their name? If she was a psychic witch, who knows what she might see? Or whom she might tell!

Lucius thought it prudent to conduct their business as quickly as possible and get far, far from this place. "May we begin?"

"Certainly." Conn aimed her wand at a box midway down in the stack, near the right; it slid out noiselessly, leaving a hole that astoundingly wasn't filled in by dropping boxes. It glided over to her, she lifted the top of the box and cradled the wand lovingly. "You've changed since buying your last wand. This one is chestnut, eleven inches, albino dragon heartstring."

She offered it up and Lucius took it dubiously. Even Ollivander hadn't got it right the first time, though this one seemed to warm his palm with a pleasing tingle. He pointed it at the hole from which the box had come and flicked lightly. One box slid into the place and the rest stacked themselves neatly around it. _Lucky try_, he mused. He threw a silent jinx that caused the rows of boxes to jump and scatter, then immediately issued the countercharm and they returned to their spots. Another casual flick and it began to snow—light, fluffy snowflakes drifted from the ceiling and vanished before they hit the floor.

"I confess myself dumbfounded," he said finally. "I honestly didn't believe you'd get it right first try, but…well, to be frank, this wand actually feels a bit better than my old one."

Abigail beamed. This wasn't the first time she'd heard that statement. "My family has been in the business for centuries. And clairvoyance helps."

_Clairvoyance! That's how she knew!_ Lucius found it slightly disturbing. What else did she know?

Answering his unspoken question, Abigail said quietly, "It scares a lot of people at first when I read them. I do it to ascertain a person's character to help me select the perfect wand. Sometimes other things sneak through, like…him. I didn't know what that horrible Voldemort looked like, not till I touched you. I see you've suffered at his hands like so many others."

What could he say to that? He had suffered, he'd made others suffer…he wished it could all go away. "I'd prefer not to discuss it."

"Naturally," she agreed. She summoned another box and handed the wand to Draco. "Pine, ten inches, pixie dust core."

"Pixie dust?" asked Draco, sneering. "I'm not a fairy."

Lucius resisted a strong urge to elbow the uncooperative boy in the side. "Try it out."

While Draco played around with the wand, a third box came sailing off the shelf to Abigail. She handed it to Lucius saying, "I understand your wife isn't fit to travel this far."

"Yeah, she's sick," Draco interjected as he took aim at individual snowflakes to blow them apart.

"I've sensed your mother through the genetic bond you share with her," Abigail explained, speaking to Draco but looking at Lucius. "This wand should prove a fair match. If not, bring it back and we'll exchange it."

"That will be satisfactory, thank you." Lucius nudged Draco. "So how is it?"

"Good," admitted Draco, shrugging. "But please don't tell anyone it has pixie dust—I'd never hear the end of it!"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Well, that was it. He'd scanned the _Daily Prophet_ front to back without finding so much as a mention of his innocence. Severus flung the paper onto the coffee table at Spinner's End. _Damn that Potter brat and his promises_! Scowling bitterly, he spent the next ten minutes thinking up grisly, gruesome things it would be fun to try out on Potter. Then, on the off chance that he'd missed something, he leaned forward and picked up the newspaper once more.

"_Ministry Searching for Death Eaters_," Severus read aloud. "There's a shocker. I'm surprised I didn't see an expose on the crowning of Potter as King of the Ministry." He flipped the page, his eyes trailing over the plethora of wearisome tripe. "_Baby on the Way for Prominent Ex-Convict?_ Really, have they nothing better to gossip about?" he muttered, right before he froze in place.

His glance had unwittingly skimmed the first line of the article, in which Narcissa Malfoy was the topic of conversation. Backtracking, he devoured the column amid the euphoria raging in his mind. It had worked, his potion had worked a second time! Lucius and Narcissa were having another baby! A triumphant yelp reverberated across the cramped room, causing him to automatically look around in embarrassment.

Regaining his composure, he reread the article, sneering at the not-so-subtle innuendoes and speculations that Lucius might not be the child's father. Pathetic reporters after scandal, not truth; ought to be strung up by their thumbs. He started to drift back into his fantasy of ghastly punishments, this time for idiots and rumormongers, before snapping himself back into reality. One good thing—he'd learned, to his great joy, that Lucius and Draco had been released from Azkaban, the whole family was free.

He got up, renewed in purpose. He couldn't lie about hoping for his innocence to be announced. Perhaps he wasn't able to move about as a free man yet—if indeed he ever would be with that twat in charge of it—but at least his good friend and godson were. On that note, he tossed the newspaper down, went outside, and disapparated.

When Sisidy opened the door to his knock, her bug-eyes nearly popped out of her skull and she screamed in a high-pitched wail that hurt his ears. Why did blasted house elves have to be so bloody emotional? Next thing he knew, she leaped at him to hug his leg, leaving him standing there feeling extremely uncomfortable.

"Mister Severus! Bad peoples saying you're dead, telling my masters so they cries!"

Severus shook his leg, gently at first. "As you can see, I'm quite alive and would like to see Master Lucius." The elf didn't desist from her affections. Severus shook his leg so hard he felt a grinding crack in his hip. "If you please…"

Instantly Sisidy transported him directly to the drawing room, the room where they'd gathered with Voldemort so often, a place that held nothing but bad memories for him. He leaned over to pry the elf off the leg she continued to grip like a treasure. Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco looked up as one: all three pale faces became even whiter; Lucius made to step in his direction, Draco let out an alarmed squeak, and Narcissa promptly fainted.

Before she hit the floor, Severus had his wand out to arrest her fall, and he lowered her slowly to the cold floor where all three men gathered round her in a worried gaggle. Lucius cradled her head in his arms as he tenderly stroked her cheek. Sisidy hopped about moaning hysterically, only to be ordered out by Lucius.

"Narcissa," he murmured, torn between his wife and the appearance of his friend from the grave. Bewildered, he said, "Severus, they said…" As if the pieces had all fallen into place, his countenance hardened. "Those bastards! They said you were dead to torment us more!"

"I wish," responded Severus dryly. "I did almost die. I sent a patronus to Tina and she came to save me, no thanks to that imbecile who's being hailed as the savior." He conjured a bit of smelling salts and waved it under Narcissa's nose.

"So Potter lied?" sneered Draco. "That figures."

"Technically, the moron thought I was dead, though if he had a lick of sense he'd have actually _checked_ before jumping to conclusions. It's that abominable Gryffindor behavior."

"Stupid Potter," said Draco scornfully, yet his eyes lit with a strange light. "So you really were a spy against the dark lord, Uncle Sev?"

"Yes. If you don't mind, could we discuss this later?" Narcissa was coming around and Lucius was helping her sit up. "Narcissa, it's really me, I'm not a phantom. Are you alright?"

She nodded and sipped at the water Lucius had summoned up. "You startled me, I thought you were gone…" She held out her hand and he bent down into her hard embrace that put a near stranglehold on his neck. Silent tears ran from her eyes.

"I suppose it was rude of me to pop in. In your fragile condition, I should have forewarned you," Severus conceded. "Congratulations, by the way, on your baby."

"I should thank _you_," she said, then gasped, "How did you know?"

"You're pregnant?" exclaimed Draco, obviously peeved to be left out of the loop. "I guess it'd be too much trouble to tell _me_, I'm only your son!"

"Not now, Draco," warned Lucius, grimacing, then he snarled, "There was a piece in the _Daily Prophet_, I imagine that's how Severus knew." Lest he upset his beloved, he said no more, notably not how much he'd like to throttle the bitch who wrote the inflammatory article.

Severus pulled away from Narcissa, sharing a knowing look with Lucius. The woman appealed to her son, "We were going to tell you soon, honey, when we were sure everything was alright."

"Don't do me any favors," muttered Draco under his breath, fortunately not loud enough for his father to hear.

Together Lucius and Severus raised Narcissa up and sat her on one of the cushioned chairs lining the long, heavy wooden table. Once she was situated, Lucius faced Severus, smiled broadly, and suddenly threw his arms around his best friend, the only friend he truly trusted with his life, the man who'd never wavered in his devotion, the man who was responsible for both of his children, the one he didn't have to pretend with.

"I can't express how happy I am that you're alive," he said simply, his voice cracking. If Lucius were the sentimental type, one might imagine they'd seen moisture glinting in his eyes.

Returning the embrace, then quickly stepping back away from human contact as if it were an unholy practice, Severus reverted to what he knew and felt comfortable with. He smirked as he said, "I share your sentiment, both for my life and yours. And I'm glad your family escaped Azkaban. I hear most of our colleagues now reside there."

"So I hear," murmured Lucius.

Severus gestured around at the room, which lay in utter disarray. "May I ask what you're doing? It's not like a Malfoy to do spring cleaning…or any cleaning."

Narcissa broke in, "Lucius is throwing out everything the Death Eaters touched, meaning pretty much everything in the room. I was trying to salvage some of the antiques and heirlooms. He wants to burn it all, but I insisted we donate the furniture, rugs, and chandelier to a charity auction."

As if echoing the thoughts of all the people in the room, Lucius said in his own defense, ""I prefer to distance myself from that life and that filth."

He'd get no argument from Severus. The mere mention of 'charity' had brought to mind the awful memory of Charity Burbage hanging above this very table set to be cast out of the house. Draco seemed to be thinking the same thing, his ashen face contorted in disgust and horror. Observing the boy, Severus noted what he'd swear was animosity pouring from him not only at the memory, but when he looked at his father, then over at Snape. Most disconcerting.

Severus tore his gaze away from the lad to see Narcissa sipping something from a clear vial. "What is that, Narcissa?"

"A potion Lucius made for me, for the nausea," she explained, holding it out to him.

It went without saying that Severus would want to inspect it, and sure enough he already had it held up to the light gauging its color and clarity, smelling it. Raising his brows he murmured, "What is this swill?"

"_Hebben soduer_," snapped Lucius, frowning.

"Hmm. Did you purposely make it crimson, or did that week in Azkaban make you colorblind?"

Getting defensive, his eyes flashing, Lucius retorted, "I followed my father's formula; you can't say he didn't brew excellent potions!"

"I wouldn't venture to disparage Mr. Malfoy's skill," said Severus smoothly, calmly. "I'm merely pointing out that your forte lies in other arenas because whatever you've created, it isn't _hebben soduer_, which is a healthy _scarlet_ hue." Severus crossed his arms over his chest and set his lips in a near pout.

"The difference being?" asked Lucius snidely.

"The difference being when the directions say to stir precisely three times counterclockwise after adding the bat wing and lowering the flame, you should do as it says!" growled Snape. Honestly, having one Neville Longbottom had been enough torture without Lucius vying to sink to his level! Even _Potter_ could have done better—oh, who was he fooling. Potter couldn't brew his way out of a paper sack full of holes with lighted arrows pointing the way.

"So glad you're back from the dead," Lucius sniped, not looking glad at all. "I've _so_ missed your clever repartee."

Narcissa came over, plucked the vial from Severus' hand, and snuggled up to her husband. "He's only trying to help, love. And you did miss him terribly. Severus, this potion may look a bit off, but it works pretty…better than nothing," she finished lamely. It did work a tad, and she appreciated Lucius' effort. After all, he hadn't brewed a potion since Hogwarts!

Severus snorted lightly. Despite the blond man's pride, there existed no doubt he truly wished to help his wife. Tomorrow Severus would brew the potion properly and smuggle it to Narcissa; Lucius need never know, and then they'd all be happy. It felt kind of good to be subversive. Snape shook his head; he'd been a spy too long, he didn't know how to get along like a normal person anymore.

"Master Malfoy, there's mens at the door for you," Sisidy announced.

"I'll be right there."

Sisidy bounced away while the rest exchanged worried glances. No one was expected…had aurors decided to harass them? Lucius drew his wand, waved at his family to stay put, and followed the elf, with Snape right behind, wand at ready, determined to wait in the wings as reinforcement if necessary. No one knew he was here, it likely wasn't an arrest squad.

Lucius opened the door, his jaw dropped momentarily, and he exclaimed, "Oh, you've got to be bloody kidding me! What is this, a Death Eater reunion?"

Severus rushed up to find Rabastan and Nott in the doorway, grinning like simpletons.


	7. Oh No, You Didn't

Death Eater No More—Chapter Seven (Oh No, You Didn't!)

Lucius returned to the disarrayed drawing room where Narcissa and Draco anxiously awaited word. At sight of him not being chased by aurors, both of them visibly relaxed and let out a relieved breath, though their curiosity was evident. Snape had not come back, and while not inconceivable that he'd leave without saying his farewells, it wasn't his style. Someone was at Malfoy Manor, and Severus was with that person or persons.

Narcissa stood up at the table, where she had numerous articles she was deliberating over, and made her way through the clutter to Lucius. "Honey, who is it?"

Following the pattern he'd established long ago wherein Narcissa didn't meddle in his Death Eater activities, Lucius assured her with a smile, "It's alright, sweetheart, it's nothing important." He squeezed her in a hug, knowing she'd let it go as she'd always done. "Draco, help your mother sort out whatever she wants to keep. Then have Sisidy get rid of everything else as we discussed."

"To charity, not burning," Narcissa clarified for emphasis.

With a quick peck on the lips, Lucius excused himself and started down the hall. He'd not gone far when, his senses heightened by the arrival of his old Death Eater comrades, he detected the faint, unnerving padding of feet behind him. He whirled, wand in hand. Draco suppressed a shriek as he froze in place, hands flung over his head, his features filled with terror. Only his eyes moved as they bounced rapidly back and forth from the wand pointed at his chest to the cold malevolence that flitted across Lucius' face for only a second before registering who the boy was.

"Damn it, Draco, don't sneak up on me like that! Do you want to get hurt or killed?" hissed Lucius, lowering the wand.

The boy shook his head vigorously and dropped his arms. "I'm sorry, I…who's here? Why won't you tell us?"

"Because it doesn't concern you. Now go do as I told you." He waited until Draco had sullenly spun around and stomped back to the drawing room before he proceeded toward the parlor just off the foyer.

Rabastan and Nott had made themselves at home; each held a goblet of fine wine as they lounged across the sofa and divan. Ever the teetotaler, Severus sat in an armchair, legs and arms crossed, being interrogated by the pair regarding his presumed death. In his typical stoical manner, he stared them down while answering frankly and sarcastically, most of which was lost of Nott. Snape had forgotten since their days as roommates at Hogwarts the seemingly limitless density of Nott.

"Now that we've determined I'm alive, perhaps we can discuss what _you're_ doing here," remarked Severus dryly. "Shouldn't you be in Azkaban?"

"Shouldn't _you_?" Rabastan shot back. He smirked, raised his glass in a salute, and gulped the remainder. "Ah, Lucius, you're back. Could I get some more wine?"

Lucius' eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do I look like a house elf?"

Rabastan appraised him thoughtfully. "Well, you are rather tall for an elf. And the ladies seem to think you're pretty, which I wouldn't call—"

"_Handsome_. They think I'm _handsome_," Lucius interrupted.

"I can see that," chimed in Nott as he quaffed his drink. At the other three men staring peculiarly at him, he amended his statement. "I mean, I can see why the ladies think he's pretty."

"Handsome, you knucklehead!" barked Lucius.

Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Severus sighed heavily. Of all the Death Eaters, he wouldn't have bet a single pound on Nott being the one to escape capture. "Are we through arguing over the attractiveness of our host? I, for one, find it marginally disturbing."

"Why? Are you jealous, Sev?" crowed Nott.

"Damnation, Nott, how many times in the last twenty-odd years have I told you not to call me 'Sev'?" demanded Snape.

Nott grinned and shrugged. "You look like a Sev."

Feigning a sympathetic expression, his eyes twinkling, Rabastan cooed, "It's okay, Snape, there's bound to be _somebody_ who doesn't think you're an ugly git with poor fashion sense. Don't take out your frustrations on Nott."

Before Severus had the chance to draw his wand and get the party really going, Lucius held up a hand as he lowered himself into the chair beside his friend. "Enough. Why did you come here, Rabastan? I cannot offer you lodging, and as pleasing as my company may be, you have to know there could be aurors nearby."

Rabastan leaned forward a little, still holding his empty glass. He looked directly into Lucius' deadpan eyes. "I'm not here to mooch off you. I'm staying with my uncle at the Lestrange property in Scotland. I'm here because Rodolphus is in Azkaban. You have a lot of connections and a lot of money to make more connections. You're one of _us_, I'm hoping you'll help me get him out of there."

For several seconds there was absolute, chilly silence. When Lucius spoke, it was a far cry from the amicable reply Rabastan had expected. "I can't believe you'd do this, Rabastan! How can you put me on the spot like this, ask me to risk my freedom and my family?"

"Because I have no one else to go to! Because we're friends!"

"And I should forget the way you laughed along with the rest so many times when the dark lord tortured me?" retorted Lucius in a near growl. "Some friend!"

Rabastan dropped his eyes and pushed himself back on the sofa looking ashamed. "I didn't want to, Lucius…the others would have noticed, they'd tell on me and I'd be next. I had to pretend to like it, the dark lord wasn't merciful…"

"No need to tell me that," snapped Malfoy. It surprised him more than a little, the immediate bubbling up of ferocious resentment he'd harbored for a year against his fellow Death Eaters. He was aware of the position they were in, he'd been forced to play along at joviality many times himself over the years to hold suspicion against him at bay. That didn't make it hurt any less to feel betrayed by old friends.

"Rodolphus never laughed at you," murmured Rabastan. "He was always stronger than me, not afraid." Of all the reasons he admired his brother, his strength was primary. Even as children, Rodolphus had been bold, fearless…he dearly missed having his brother around. "Please, Lucius, don't refuse your aid because of me."

Severus sat back observing the interaction without comment. Apparently Rabastan knew better than to ask _his_ help, for no doubt he'd receive a resounding NO. He'd not grown up with the brothers as Lucius had, he didn't feel the bond they had; aside from the fact that they'd never have lowered themselves to befriend a halfblood, Rabastan was out of school by the time Snape reached second year, Rodolphus two years before that. It wasn't his place to insinuate his opinion, but he seriously hoped Lucius had enough sense to steer clear of obvious trouble in spite of sentiment.

At length Lucius said, "I appreciate how difficult this is for you, but I can't help you. I just got free of that wretched place myself."

Rabastan gave a slight nod, his face looking careworn and morose. He set his glass on the coffee table and stood up. At the same time Lucius rose, but he put a finger to his lips to preclude anyone asking him what he was doing, and made a motion with his hand to indicate they should go on conversing normally.

Picking up on it, Rabastan said, "I respect that. I wouldn't want to jeopardize you, that isn't why I came."

Lucius stalked silently across the room as Lestrange spoke, whipped around the corner, and grabbed his son by the front of his robes, dragging him roughly into the doorway. The surprised murmurs of the others faded beneath the fury in Malfoy's tone.

Almost purring in his attempt to restrain himself, to remain calm and collected, Lucius pulled Draco up close to his face. "So this is what you do when I give you an order? You've defied me not once, but _twice_ in your quest to slink about eavesdropping on your father!"

"I just wanted to know what's going on," breathed Draco, trying to break away, his heart pounding violently in his chest. "Nobody tells me anything."

"Unless you have a bizarre desire for my cane to belabor your backside until you can't walk, I suggest you haul your arse back to the drawing room. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," squeaked the boy.

"I'll be speaking to your mother shortly. If I find out you disobeyed me yet again, there _will_ be hell to pay. Now go." He thrust Draco away from him as he released his robes, and the lad bolted away. As a protective measure, he placed a silencing charm around the room.

"My oldest boy is Draco's age," said Nott in the uneasy silence. "For some reason they get it in their heads that just because they're of age they're really men. My dad used to tan me regularly, and every now and then I have to show my kid who's boss, too."

"You have to keep 'em in line, get their respect," added Rabastan in agreement.

Scowling, Severus balked at this. Rabastan didn't even have any children, what did he know about it! "Until he quit drinking, my father used to show me he was boss every time he got soused. It certainly did nothing to earn my respect."

Lucius acted as if he hadn't heard any of it. He picked up where the conversation had left off before the intrusion. "I won't go to Azkaban with you, Rabastan, but I may be of assistance. Rodolphus was in the cell next to mine on Level Two. It's the corridor heading to the right from the entrance. The daytime guard was one of Arthur Weasley's brood, I didn't recognize the others. That's all I know that might help."

Rabastan beamed as he reached over to clasp Malfoy's hand. "That'll be a great help! Thank you."

"You can thank me by steering clear of here. It's not safe for any of us."

"Thank you, Lucius," said Rabastan again. "Don't worry, I won't bring the aurors down on you. Come on, Nott."

The sound of the front door closing announced their departure. Instead of standing up, Lucius leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. It was bad manners to chase out guests, yet if the Ministry got wind of wanted Death Eaters in his home, they might decide to charge him with aiding and abetting criminals. At least he didn't think he could be indicted for simply discussing his accommodations at Azkaban, and if it ended up gaining liberty for Rodolphus, how could that be _his_ fault? While Rodolphus wasn't perfect, he was a stand up guy…alright, he was a remorseless torturer and Muggle killer, but compared to some of the Death Eaters, he was a fair saint.

At last he opened his eyes; Severus was sitting there simply waiting patiently. "Let's go back to Narcissa. I ought to scold Draco for his snooping."

"You can hardly blame Draco for being curious. After all that's happened here in the last two years, he has a right to know," responded Severus evenly.

"I'll decide what my son has a right to do," clipped Lucius, evidently put out. "I obeyed my father until the day he died, and my son will do the same."

Exasperated, Severus blurted, "So you're going to punish him? Can't you see how traumatized he is by the dark lord's presence in your home, by having you sent to Azkaban—hell, for ending up there himself?"

"Do you think _I'm_ not traumatized?" shouted Lucius, rising from his chair. "Or Narcissa? I'm trying to keep Draco away from bad influences, Severus! Isn't that what a father is supposed to do?"

"Yes, of course," conceded Snape, trying to be conciliatory. He knew he should have kept his mouth shut. "I merely meant you could let it slide this one time."

Not so easily placated, Lucius continued to work himself up, letting his anger at Draco and at life blast out at his friend. "I never said I was going to beat him, did I? You act like I'm a monster! Every time I discipline him I have to hear what a terrible father I am, and I'm sick of it! I do my best, what do you want from me?"

"Nothing, Lucius. You're not a terrible father," murmured Snape. He rose feeling awkward and sorry he'd even come. "I think it's about time I go."

"No," said Lucius, shaking his head with an expression of regret. "I didn't mean to lash out, I just have a lot on my mind."

"I understand. How about I come back in a few days, give you time to finish your project in the drawing room," suggested Severus. _Give you time to get over your tantrum_, he wanted to say and thought better of it. It bothered him whenever Draco was punished, that was true, but only because he cared for his godson. Draco was not mistreated by Lucius, there was no reason to believe he would be this time, he should have kept his nose out of it. "Give my regards to Narcissa and Draco." So much for their happy reunion! He let himself out.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

As soon as his mother had finished selecting the items she wished to salvage, Draco summoned Sisidy to move the treasures to another part of the house and get started on removing every vestige left in the room. If he grasped correctly what Father had planned, even the walls were to be stripped down to bare plaster and redone in another color so as not to remind the family so much of what had occurred there. It was a good thing, this room held only horrors for them now.

His assigned task completed, that left Draco free to do as he pleased, and he thought he ought to go see Goyle, who'd lost his father at Hogwarts. With the fully justified excuse of having been incarcerated, Draco had been unable to attend the man's funeral, and though he hadn't known Mr. Goyle very well and he really hated dredging up bad memories, Gregory was a friend. It was his duty to offer comfort, as much as he was capable of offering, anyway.

Goyle came up to the door led by an elf, but instead of inviting Draco in he stepped out onto the porch. "Whatta you want, Malfoy?"

Stunned by the rude reception, Draco hesitated. He'd only ever seen hostility like this from Goyle when it was directed at someone deserving, like Gryffindorks. "I, uh, came to offer my condolences on your father's death."

The other looked to be pondering the statement, trying to figure out what it meant. Finally, his face screwed up in a scowl, he said, "Well you did, you can go."

"Goyle, what's with you?"

"What's with me? Maybe I don't haf to be friends with you no more, that's what," growled the burly man. "My dad made me suck up to you, and I'm done."

"What are you talking about? We've been friends since we were little kids!" exclaimed Draco.

Goyle snorted. "Yer dad was the dark lord's pet when we was babies, and when he came back. That was one reason to stick to you. Besides, yer old man's rich. My dad made me act all nice so's we'd be in good with the bloody _Malfoys_. I got tired of bein' bossed around like yer servant, you stuck-up ponce. Nobody really likes you."

This wasn't right. He must be hearing this wrong. Goyle—stupid, clumsy, talentless Goyle—was throwing off their friendship? Not only refusing it, but trashing it as if it had never meant anything to him! It wasn't that Draco found Goyle to be a scintillating conversationalist—heck, he could barely string two syllables together—but to know it had all been a lie, that all these years his 'friends' had only been at his side because of Lucius struck a hard blow to his ego and his pride.

Hurt in a way he couldn't quite comprehend, Draco resorted to what he'd always done. He sneered and went for the jugular. "If that's how you feel, sod off you brainless lump! I never liked you anyway, it was like talking to a caveman." He started to turn away but halted and looked back when the other spoke.

Goyle sneered right back at him, "I don't give a crap what you say. I win." His sneer turned into a self-satisfied smile that gave Draco an odd, unsettled feeling right before Goyle announced, "My mum just finished talkin' to Pansy's parents, and we all signed the papers. We're gettin' married next year."

Draco whirled on him. "That's a lie!"

"No it ain't!" yelled Goyle. "She signed it, you can ask 'er yourself!"

"I will!" Draco hollered back, his grey eyes shooting daggers through the blockhead.

This time he simply disapparated, but not to Pansy's house. Goyle wouldn't have been smart enough to taunt him to ask Pansy unless it was true, but why? Why in the world would she agree to marry him? Goyle was a moron, pure and simple, even if he did have the muscular build some of the girls swooned over. Maybe it was an arranged marriage, she had no choice. Then, like a fist to the chest, it hit him: she'd only hung around with Draco because he was a _Malfoy_, just like every other leech in school. She'd never liked him, either, had she? When the Malfoy name lost its prestige, there was no point in wasting her precious time on Draco anymore.

"Bitch!" he seethed the instant he apparated home.

He flung open the door and charged in, headed for the one place he most expected to find his father—his study. He wasn't disappointed, for he found Lucius at his desk scribbling away on a parchment. The man looked up quizzically when his son barged through the door without benefit of knocking and stormed right up to the desk.

"I hope you're happy! You ruined my life!"

In what seemed like slow motion, Lucius put down his quill and rose to his feet, his piercing eyes never leaving his son. Draco failed to note in his lazy drawl the tension indicative of a valiant attempt to control his temper. "If you wish to speak to me civilly, lower your tone."

"No! Everybody hates me because of the way you raised me—because of you! You have no business having another kid!"

Lucius' hand shot out of its own volition to clout Draco across the face, hard enough to stagger him; he crashed against the bookshelf, his legs gave way, and he fell on one knee. His father rounded the desk, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and jerked him to his feet.

In a harsh voice barely above a whisper Lucius hissed, "I've grown weary of your attitude of late. I don't know what's got into you, but unless you want me to do something we'll both regret, you'll go to your room and stay there until I give you permission to leave."

He let go of the boy, who paused as if he couldn't decide whether to comply or to sass back. Determining the second option seemed more likely to earn him another wallop, he merely glared at his father before heading out the door, his cheek aflame with the imprint of Lucius' hand.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Come on, mate, you been keeping to yourself a lot lately," cajoled Ron. "Let's go on back to the Burrow, the family misses you."

Harry hesitated, reluctant to make a hasty decision. He missed the camaraderie of the Weasleys, too, and the solitude here at Grimmauld Place was stifling. He'd had enough alone time, maybe it was right he should spend some time with his friends—as long as they didn't talk too much of Voldemort or any of those awful happenings.

"Alright, I'll go, but only for a week. It's not right to impose too long on your family."

"It's no imposition, you're _one_ of the family," said Ron honestly.

Harry smiled. It sure did feel good to belong, to know people cared about him. "I have something I need to do first at the Ministry. I have an appointment with the Minister."

Ron held his head and groaned. "You got to be bloody joking, Harry! You're not goin' to talk to Shacklebolt about Snape again?"

"Yes, Ron, I am. This is taking much longer than I thought, and…well I know you hate Snape—"

"Greasy bat!"

"—but I promised him. He's a jerk, but he's not a Death Eater, and he deserves our respect for all he's done. He risked his life day in and day out for Dumbledore. For me." Harry bent over in his chair to tie his shoes. The last person he wanted to feel indebted to was Snape, but facts were facts. He'd thought long and hard over the past few days about those memories Snape had given him; there was no way to deny the wizard had spent his life protecting Harry even while loathing the sight of him. It wouldn't be right to turn his back on the man, no matter how tempting it may be. It wasn't the Gryffindor way.

"Couldn't you owl Shacklebolt, nudge him along?"

"I tried that. To be quite honest, Ron, I don't relish the thought of Snape showing up here again, especially an irate Snape." He stood up and shrugged on a windbreaker. "Right then. I'll see you later."

He took a pinch of floo powder, stepped into the fireplace, and was gone.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Lucius couldn't concentrate. Three times he'd begun to draft this stupid letter, and each time his mind had drifted off. He capped the ink and stowed his quill, rolled up his parchment and locked it in the bottom drawer of his desk. Business would have to wait, he had family obligations to attend to.

With a tired sigh he picked up his cane—not that he had any real intention of using it on Draco, but its presence tended to keep the boy in his place. For the umpteenth time he understood how his own father must have felt all those times Lucius had provoked him to beatings by his actions or his smart mouth. Nevertheless, Lucius had been more lenient with Draco than Abraxas had been with him, and it perturbed him that Draco would take advantage of that.

Something was bothering his son, that much was evident, and whatever it was needed to be brought to light. Left to fester, it would dig like a worm into their relationship, spoiling it, and when all was said and done, Lucius loved Draco very much. It hurt to even think of a breach between them. With this in mind, he climbed the stairs like a condemned man on the way to the gallows and plodded down to Draco's room. While he desired to make peace with Draco, apologies didn't come easily to a Malfoy.

His cane rapped sharply on the door. No answer. "Draco, this is your father. I don't care to play these games." Still no answer.

He turned the knob, pushed open the door, and stepped inside. A quick scan of the huge room showed it to be unoccupied; the bathroom door stood ajar, dark inside. Draco wasn't in here.

Lucius took a deep breath, his lips pinched into an angry line. The bloody, f-king _nerve_ of the boy to flout his authority _again_! If the brat wasn't here, where would he be? "Sisidy!"

The elf popped in beside him, so close she could snuggle on his leg. "Yes, Master Malfoy?"

"Where's my son?"

"Sisidy isn't knowing, Master Malfoy," answered the elf sadly. She so hated to disappoint her dear Lucius. "Master Draco left the manor."

_Left the manor!_ How dare he leave when he'd been ordered to his room! A realization of something more sinister burned Lucius to the core. What if his son had run away? The way Draco had been behaving, he wouldn't put it past the whelp! His cane lashed out over the dresser, sending the items on top sailing across the room with a crash.

All at once the rage simmering in his mind coalesced into a dark, intangible force that burst outward in a sudden blast of unfocused magic that tore through the room like a tornado, shattering windows, throwing pictures off the walls, leaving bedclothes and knick knacks twisted and scattered in piles on the floor. Sisidy screamed, clutched his leg, and began to whimper.

His eyes projecting deadly fury, Lucius looked over the scene with a hostility that invaded his senses; then, as quickly as the furor had come upon him, it had gone in the wake of its havoc. A sensation of awe and dismay began to dawn on him. Like many wizards, he was capable of simple wandless magic, but certainly not on a scale to rival this destruction. This was primal, unintended…dangerous. He'd never done such a thing before, and frankly it alarmed him.

"Sisidy, clean this up. I need to speak to my wife." With that, he spun on his heel and hurried out to find Narcissa.


	8. Runaway

Death Eater No More—Chapter Eight (Runaway)

(**Author's Note**: This story has been nominated for the Quibbler Awards in the categories of Best General and Best Work-in-Progress, so thank you to whoever nominated me!! Also, _Lucius and the Shrink_ has been nominated for Best One-shot and Best Comedy/Parody fic. I'd appreciate it if you all visited their site to vote when it's time. I'll let you know when I find out. Thanks!) **quibbler (dot) this-paradise (dot) com **

Lucius tiptoed up to Narcissa's study feeling foolish for his stealth but wary of what was to come. He realized how silly he must look, yet the weight of guilt hanging around his neck made him afraid—no, not afraid, Malfoys weren't cowards—made him _hesitant_ to approach his wife. After all, she was carrying his child, he didn't wish to distress her and possibly cause the baby harm…and she could be a right banshee if properly provoked. With a grimace he recalled how unpredictable she'd been at times when pregnant with Draco.

_Draco_. His stomach clenched. If Narcissa didn't rip him to shreds, it would be a minor miracle. "Narcissa, honey," he sang, poking his head just in the door.

Narcissa was seated by the picture window overlooking the gardens, a book in her hands. She looked up at him and smiled. "Yes, love?"

_Be smooth, Malfoy. You've done this all your adult life, you can pull it off now_. If only he could rid himself of that blasted quaking in his stomach that accompanied his sense of loss. Not to mention that while he could charm half the wizarding world with his suave manner, Narcissa knew him too well to fall for the ordinary ploys. "You and Draco have always shared confidences, right? Just out of curiosity, when he's in a mood, is there any particular place he likes to go to cool down?" Good heavens, was that the best he could do? Why didn't he simply throw up his hands and admit he'd driven their son from the house? He sounded like an idiot on psychotropic drugs! He definitely needed to polish his deception skills in regard to his wife.

"Why would he be in a mood?" she asked, shutting her book and setting it down. The downward slant of her eyebrows didn't bode well.

"Purely hypothetical," Lucius answered lightly, his own smile coming off as sincere—unless one knew him well, which Narcissa most certainly did. Damn it, it always came down to that!

The witch got up (not a good sign) and walked over to where Lucius was still curled around the door jamb. She crossed her arms, pursed her lips, and clipped, "What did you do?"

"What makes you think I did anything?" he replied as indignantly as his conscience would allow.

"If you were truly concerned about where Draco goes when he's angry, you'd already know the answer. He goes to his room to sulk or to Abraxas' library, I suppose to feel close to him. Therefore, I must conclude you've done something to upset him and now you can't find him, so what did you do?" She began to tap her foot impatiently.

Lucius straightened himself to his full height, several inches taller than Narcissa. Why did he feel so small under her glower? "Your son came charging into my study shouting most disrespectfully at me."

"_My_ son?" queried Narcissa sardonically.

"He didn't get that behavior from me," retorted Lucius. He shuddered to think what Abraxas would have done to him if he'd had the nerve to act that way. He doubted he'd have lived long enough to do it again. "When he said I wasn't fit to have another child, I slapped him."

To Lucius' surprise, Narcissa's arms uncrossed and her expression became one of bemused dismay. She laid an empathetic hand on his arm. "He said that?"

"Yes, he did." Lucius' hand reached over to cover hers. To hear his son proclaim him an incompetent parent had been a brutal blow; he'd been hurt by Draco's angry statement at the time, only now combined with his wife's sympathy the pain of it dug deep into his soul.

"I'm sure he doesn't mean it, honey. It was cruel of him to say, but he's confused, he's been through so much lately. I wish you hadn't slapped him."

"I know, I wish I hadn't, either. When I went up to his room to talk to him, he was gone. Sisidy said he's left the manor." He gazed into her eyes, reading the anxiety forming there, mirroring his own.

"Where could he be? Do you think he went to a friend's house?" said Narcissa.

Their son's furious words reverberated through Lucius' mind. _Everybody hates me_… Draco had said he was going to Goyle's house, and when he returned he was livid. Evidently something very unpleasant had passed for Draco to get the idea that no one liked him, and thus it seemed unlikely he'd have gone to a chum's house if he expected to be rejected.

"No, I don't think so," Lucius murmured. "I'll check with Severus and see if he turned up there." Other than that, he had no idea where the boy might be. His own fears for Draco's safety aside, he only knew if he didn't locate their son soon, Narcissa would go ballistic. No one wanted that.

"I'll check with his friends," Narcissa insisted, and Lucius couldn't bring himself to contradict her. She needed to feel that she was doing all she could, too. "We have to find him, Lucius." Draco had never run away before, he'd never even been openly defiant or impertinent with his parents. The strain in her voice gave the distinct impression she was already nearing panic.

He took her face in his hands, cupping her cheeks lovingly as he kissed her forehead and lips, feigning a calm he didn't feel. "Don't fret, I'll find him, love. I promise."

As he squeezed her tight to his chest, his countenance looked weary and worried. It was a big planet and Draco could have gone anywhere. How in the world he was going to keep this promise was beyond him, but he'd do his damnedest. Right now that seemed wholly inadequate.

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Lucius floo'd over to Spinner's End and stepped out of the fireplace, peering around him and wrinkling his nose in disgust. The place was even darker, filthier, and more cluttered than he remembered from his last visit, which had been a very long time ago. It was about time Severus got a house elf or learned that living in a pig sty was not in vogue! He waved his wand down his robes to deal with the soot and once more for the mussed hair.

"Severus!" he called loudly. Wouldn't want to surprise the man and get hexed for his trouble.

Momentarily Severus came clomping down the stairs, eyeing him suspiciously. If Malfoy had tracked him here to continue their earlier argument over Draco, he could turn right back around! "Hello, Lucius. To what do I owe the honor?"

Lucius took a single step toward the furniture and halted in mid-stride. He fervently prayed he wouldn't be invited to seat himself on those ancient, hideous, lumpy, stained masses of fabric erroneously referred to as armchairs. Perhaps if he distracted the man he'd forget the niceties, not that Snape was exactly known for being a solicitous host.

"Severus, I came to talk about Draco."

Great. He _was_ here for a fight. And Severus had been planning to spend a quiet, reclusive evening practicing dark spells on the rats in the cellar. "What about him?"

"He's gone," admitted Lucius softly, looking everywhere but at the accusing black orbs attached to Snape's face.

Severus had to bite his lip to keep from speaking, but his eyebrows shot up. Gone? As in _missing_ or as in _sent away_? He didn't know the details yet, he dared not offer condemnation when he couldn't be sure—and besides, Lucius appeared in no mood to accept criticism. No big change there. Still, he couldn't remember any time he'd seen Malfoy so angry with his son as he had at the manor earlier. Apparently the strain of his house arrest under Voldemort and his actual arrest and eventual acquittal had taken a huge toll on him. Severus blanked his face and waited for his friend to go on.

Lucius knew he ought to spit it out and ask if Draco was here, yet in the back of his mind he had the niggling notion that the boy was not to be found here, and it frightened him. Instead, he found himself stalling, avoiding the inevitable. "Do you remember when you were seventeen and that Muggle stabbed you with the fireplace poker right here?" Lucius indicated a spot on the floor by rubbing the toe of his boot in tiny circles as he gazed down lost in thought. Though the blood had been gone for years, he could still envision it, and the bile gurgled into his throat at the vivid image of seeing Severus skewered, dying on the floor of Malfoy Manor where he'd managed to floo himself.

Severus flopped onto the couch. Who knew how long this reminiscing might go on? Not only did they have the joy of a quarrel to look forward to, Lucius was postponing it and rambling on about his near-death experience. Lovely. Why weren't they talking about _Draco_? "Hmm. I almost died, your father saved my life, and I spent the best month of my life in your manor while recuperating. No, I don't remember it," said Snape dryly.

"You killed him and trashed the room with unfocused magic," Lucius murmured.

"Is there any particular reason we're trolling down memory lane, Lucius? These aren't exactly things I care to dwell on," Severus snapped. He didn't like to be reminded of that terrible event, and if Lucius continued to dredge up painful memories, he would refuse to participate.

Lucius stepped closer as he lowered his voice to a bare whisper, almost as if he were ashamed of what he was about to say. "It happened to me today," he confessed in a hushed tone.

Severus sat bolt upright, instantly alert and a little queasy. Was Lucius saying he _killed_ someone? "What happened?"

"In Draco's room…I felt a rage. More than that, though—a _fear_ and a rage ripping through me and it exploded out of me, demolishing Draco's room." His cool grey eyes lifted from the floor to search Severus.

For his part, Severus looked like he might heave; his eyes were round with horror. Lucius had said Draco was 'gone'—did he mean _dead_? "You didn't hurt him, did you?" he exclaimed, leaning forward anxiously so he nearly fell right off the sofa.

Lucius blinked a few times as if trying to figure out where that question had come from. Then he replied, "No, he wasn't in there. I told you he ran away."

"No, you didn't! You said—oh, forget it. Why did he run away?"

"We—well actually _he_ had a row—"

"He had a row with himself?" interrupted Severus, frowning though immeasurably relieved to know his godson was alive, if missing.

"He came in shouting at me, I smacked him, now he's gone. I don't need to hear your censure," huffed Lucius. "I was hoping he'd be here."  
"Sorry to disappoint you, but I doubt Draco would come to me. He seems to have developed an antipathy toward me," replied Severus. _Probably encouraged by his crazy bitch of an aunt._

The other wizard slumped ever so slightly. "I don't even know where to begin looking for him. Narcissa will be hysterical if I don't find him today," said Lucius in a defeated voice. "I suppose I'll pop in to our vacation homes."

By now Snape was on his feet. "I'll check Diagon Alley and other areas brats—er, teens are known to hang around. We can meet back at your manor." A wave of his wand concealed him in the disguise he'd worn for most of his daughter's life when he took her in public—'Uncle Zeb'.

Lucius gave a sad smile and clapped him on the shoulder. No words were necessary. They filed outside and disapparated.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

When Harry burst into Minister Shacklebolt's office, he was expecting a quiet talk with the man; he was _not_ expecting a dozen other people to be there, including Albert Runcorn of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Arthur and Molly Weasley.

He came to a screeching halt one step inside the door. The very sight of Runcorn made him want to run for the hills. "Uh, sorry, Minister. I didn't know you were in a meeting. I'll come back."

"No, Harry, come in!" boomed Shacklebolt in a jovial voice. "I asked a few members of the council to be here."

Harry glanced over at the Weasleys, who waved and smiled. "But they're not—"

"They're the closest thing you've got to a real family," explained Shacklebolt, his white teeth gleaming against the dark skin of his face. "They were Order members and they both know Snape."

Whether that was a good or a bad thing had yet to be determined. "Sir, I don't quite understand. You saw Snape's memories the same as I did, I thought you were going to make a ruling…to exonerate him."

"Originally that was my plan, Harry, but I thought it over and came to the conclusion that my word alone might not suffice." He took his seat at the large round table that had been brought in for this purpose and he indicated for Potter to sit beside him. "These witnesses, some of whom are reporters, will view the memories in the pensieve so no one will be able to claim the whole thing was bogus or faked or bribed. There can be no room for doubt in the public mind that Snape was truly on our side."

That made sense, he guessed. Harry cleared his throat nervously. "I think it's important for you all to know Snape gave me those when he thought he was dying in the Shrieking Shack. Voldemort sicked his snake on him, I saw it myself. Snape had to let me know I was supposed to allow Voldemort to kill me."

There were several gasps and exclamations. _That_ didn't make much sense, even though they'd all heard the story of how Harry had walked right into Voldemort's camp and Voldemort had failed to murder him for a second time with the _avada kedavra_.

Sensing their disbelief, Harry gestured over at the pensieve. "You'll see what I mean. It's kind of complicated."

Wand in hand, Shacklebolt levitated the massive bowl-like pensieve from its pedestal in the corner of the room right up onto the table, every eye in the room watching intently. The surface of the liquid shimmered a silvery white. Shacklebolt thrust his wand into the liquid, stirred a bit until the desired memories floated into view, then nodded.

"Here we are. Albert, why don't you go first?"

One by one the people around the table dunked their faces into the pensieve; as he or she came back up, the next person made the journey. If Harry had been a nail-biter, his nails would be chewed to the quick while he waited for everyone to finish. He knew what they were seeing, but what were they _thinking_? The expressions on the faces of those who'd experienced the memories ranged from blank-bordering-on-bored to outright pity. He preferred the latter, at least it showed an ability to empathize.

When the last witch pulled her face up out of the pensieve and sat back heavily in her chair with a melancholy sigh, Shacklebolt lifted an orange robe clad arm. "Now you've all seen the regret Severus Snape felt at joining the Death Eaters and his enlistment as Dumbledore's spy. The Order of the Phoenix can vouch that Snape brought a lot of valuable information. Additionally, there can be little room for doubt that he endeavored to save Harry Potter's life on more than one occasion and helped him in the quest to conquer Voldemort."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were nodding in agreement, Molly more enthusiastically than Arthur.

"In light of this information, I move that we clear Snape of all charges of being a Death Eater, of murdering Dumbledore, of every allegation, and that we educate the public to the truth. All those in favor raise your hands."

Every hand at the table went up without hesitation. Harry's face split into a wide grin. It was done, he'd accomplished what he'd promised Snape and now he wouldn't have to worry about being waylaid by his old professor. The reporters present would write up a nice article vindicating him and it would be over! Already the meeting was adjourned, people had started to chatter and move toward the door. The Weasleys edged their way around the crowd to latch onto the boy hero.

Molly clutched his arm and pulled him to her ample bosom. "Oh, Harry, I'm so glad we got to see this. Here we've been thinking he tried to kill George, and it was just an accident trying to protect _you_!"

Harry pushed away from her breasts, sucking in air. He'd tried to tell them it was an accident, only they didn't believe him! Ron had even suggested he was going soft in the head, one of his kinder comments where exonerating Snape was concerned.

Grimacing, Arthur had to concede, "We all thought the worst of him. How could we not, what with all that was going on?"

"We should invite him over to the Burrow for supper one night," announced Molly, to the unmitigated horrified stares of the other two. Obviously Molly was so overjoyed at Snape's innocence she was having delusions that they might have been mistaken about other aspects of the professor's life.

"Now, Molly," said Arthur as diplomatically as he could without reverting to hostility toward the wizard. "Understanding Snape's motives is one thing. Inviting that…unpleasant person into our home is another."

"But he's on _our side_, Arthur. We were wrong about him. No wonder he's so mean and snarky, he must be terribly lonely with how everyone thinks so badly of him." Tears actually glistened in her eyes. "Harry, you remember how you felt when everybody turned on you that year of the Tri-wizard tournament."

Time to weasel out of this and quick. "Well, it's hardly up to me, right? It's _your_ home, I'm just a guest."

"You're family," the Weasleys said together adamantly.

"It's settled then, I'll send Severus an owl when we get home. Come along, Harry." Molly took his hand like a six-year-old and marched him toward one of the floo's, with Arthur dragging his feet behind them. This was going to be _fun_.

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Draco apparated into a large yard full of weeds a short distance from what had once been a splendid but modest sized home probably built over a hundred years ago. Now it was rundown, paint chipping, parts of the molding and railing rotted and falling apart. This had to be it, the only house anywhere in sight.

He strode purposefully up the stairs onto the porch, careful to avoid what looked like a patch ready to cave in, and knocked loudly. Inside he heard a sudden hush then a rustling of sound strangely like someone caught where they shouldn't be and trying to hide.

A house elf wearing a soiled pillow case and a silly sleeping cap resembling a shower cap opened the door. "How can Nels helps you?"

"I'm looking for Rabastan Lestrange. Is he here?"

The elf blinked its huge eyes and shifted nervously. Apparently he hadn't been instructed how to answer, but was smart enough to realize he wasn't supposed to divulge any information. He was saved the trouble of coming up with an answer when Rabastan pushed him out of the way to gape in disbelief at Draco.

"Draco, what the hell are you doing here?" He leaned out to peer around the area. "Is Lucius with you?"

"No. My father won't help you, but I will. I want to free Uncle Rodolphus," said Draco in a steady voice. He barely knew his uncle, who'd spent most of the lad's life in Azkaban; the time Rodolphus had spent at Malfoy Manor in the past two years had hardly been conducive to 'family togetherness'. Nonetheless, he was a relative and—more importantly—Lucius didn't want to help him. That was the deciding factor.

Touched by the boy's ostensible loyalty to Rodolphus, Rabastan motioned for him to come inside. "How did you find us?"

"My grandfather had a map showing loads of pureblood family holdings. This was the only one in Scotland labeled as Lestrange," explained Draco casually.

"Oh, shit!" came an exclamation from behind them. They whirled as Nott walked up shaking his head with an expression that plainly said they were all doomed. "Rabastan, what is the kid doing here?"

"I can speak for myself," snapped Draco. "And I'm not a kid, I just turned eighteen!"

"Good for you," retorted Nott, then abruptly turned back to Rabastan. "We're not looking for trouble. Lucius may be a friend, but he made his position clear. If he thinks we're recruiting his son behind his back, he'll track us down."

Rabastan sneered and stretched lazily before lounging against the wall. "I'm not worried, I can handle him. Assuming Malfoy caught us and overpowered us, he's not into murder, and I've been tortured plenty. Besides, Draco is of age."

"I can do as I please," chimed in the youth. He huddled next to Rabastan, straightening up insolently as if to dare Nott to oppose them both.

Nott took the bait. "Are you daft? I'd never let my Theodore in on this, and Lucius would never allow you, I don't care what you say or what a big man you think you are! You need to go home."

The commotion had attracted Varden, who meandered into the foyer to listen to the disagreement. He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded the trio thoughtfully. He smiled as a fleeting notion passed through his head: if this boy became part of the plan, Varden would be off the hook!

"Let the kid stay, what would it hurt?" he commented.

Rabastan spun on him with a wrath completely uncalled for. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he snarled.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" asked Nott. For as many times as he'd been called dense or stupid, he seemed to be the only one to be thinking this through. "Snape is Draco's godfather. I wouldn't want to f-k with him when he's in a _good_ mood, let alone when he's pissed. As for us messing with Draco, I'm not altogether sure Lucius wouldn't kill us, but I'm sure Snape definitely would!"

At last the gravity of Draco's presence began to dawn on Rabastan. Nott was absolutely right; Snape would wreak death and mayhem if riled, but if pandered to…. "Maybe we ought to encourage Snape to join us. You were his friend in school, Nott, you could ask him."

Draco snorted derisively. "You can't trust Snape, he's a traitor! He was working as a spy for Dumbledore the whole time."

Gobsmacked, Nott and Rabastan stared at Draco. This was no miniscule accusation, and against his own godfather!

"If I were you, I'd be careful of the stories I told, Draco," advised Rabastan with a deep scowl. "Snape was the dark lord's right hand."

"Snape _killed_ Dumbledore!" added Nott vehemently.

Shaking his head, Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation. Hadn't they heard anything! "Dumbledore was dying, he arranged the whole thing with Snape, though Snape probably did it more to steal my glory." The last came out screaming of resentment while sounding petty and childish.

"That's pretty far-fetched," muttered Rabastan.

"It's the truth! Potter told the dark lord that Snape was a spy, everybody heard it. He was working against me—us. If it wasn't for him spying and ratting us out, my father wouldn't have gone to Azkaban for a year, and the dark lord wouldn't have forced me to try to make up for his failure!"

Draco averted his face, a look of fury and betrayal marring his features. Pressing his lips tightly, he brushed a sleeve across his eyes. Up to now he'd only secretly harbored bitterness toward Severus; it was time to let it out, let the world know what kind of man he was—a Death Eater through and through, with all it entailed. Sneaky, deceitful, backstabbing, hateful, loathsome… A single tear escaped to trail down his cheek and drip onto his shoulder. He sniffed deeply, struggling to control himself as the family mantra shouted in his skull. _Malfoys don't cry in public. Malfoys master their emotions._

"Are you okay?" asked Nott.

"Fine," muttered Draco through clenched teeth, ashamed to look at the man until he could contain himself.

From the background Varden stepped closer, conspicuously keeping his distance from Rabastan. "Why don't we all go have a drink? We can let the boy in on the plan, finalize details."

"He's not going with us," Nott insisted. "In fact, I'm taking him home." He grasped Draco by the wrist and started to drag him toward the door. An instant later, Draco's wand was pointed at his head, effectively prompting him to let go, albeit grudgingly.

"Don't ever try that again," said Draco in a whisper. "I'm going to have a drink, and after that I'll decide whether I like your plan. Lead the way, Rabastan." He lowered his wand and trooped after the other man into the sitting room.

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Severus and Lucius returned depressed and irritable, anxious beyond description. Draco was nowhere to be found in the Malfoy estates, nor in any public venue they'd visited. Narcissa had confirmed he hadn't gone to see any friends, which left precious few options of where to look next. They'd only seated themselves in the front parlor to discuss where to go from here when Narcissa burst in, her expression at once distraught and hopeful.

In her hand she clutched a rolled up parchment which she slapped down on the coffee table and quickly opened out. "I found this on the table in Abraxas' library. There were other maps scattered on the floor. Do you think it means anything?"

Both of the men bent forward to study the map entitled _Pureblood Property Holdings_. The legend in the corner showed Malfoy estates denoted with a red dot. A black star, not surprisingly, designated Black properties. The list contained scores of pureblood families, all of whom were represented by various colors and symbols.

Snape glanced grimly over at Lucius. "I'll bet it does, Narcissa. Draco must have overheard our conversation with Rabastan, most likely went to find him." His dark eyes roamed over the map and he paused quizzically. "I notice Grimmauld Place isn't here."

"Properties with concealment spells cast on them can't be plotted on the map," said Lucius, not even looking up. He pointed to a far corner of Scotland near the edge of the parchment. "There it is, the Lestrange estate. Let's hope that's where he is."

Not that any of them wished for Draco to be socializing with Death Eaters, of course, but at least if he was there, he was safe. Lucius stood up, drew his wand from his cane, and detached it from the serpent head with a light tug. It easily slid out of the groove that held it in place.

Narcissa took hold of her husband's arm, her blue eyes flashing the warning of an angry, overprotective mother. "Don't do anything rash, Lucius. He's run off once, he may do it again."

"I will not harm my son," promised Lucius, then he kissed her tenderly.

What he _hadn't_ said resonated as loudly among the three as what he _had_. He notably had made no promises as to what he would do or not do to Rabastan and Nott, or anyone else who may stand in his way. Severus got up taking his cue from Lucius, wand drawn. Together they headed for the door. Narcissa trailed after them and watched as they disapparated from the porch.


	9. Reflections and Confessions

Death Eater No More—Chapter Nine (Reflections and Confessions)

One day passed much as every other for Rodolphus: he paced his cramped cell until exhaustion overwhelmed him, then he slid down onto his straw pallet to reflect on his life until he either fell into a depressed stupor or cried himself to sleep—quietly. Even now, with nothing but imprisonment in sight for the rest of his life, his pride forbid him to make himself a laughingstock among his fellow inmates. He'd broken down once at the news of Bella's death, which could be overlooked considering the circumstances…any more would earn him a boatload of misery.

The idea of Azkaban for life—_that_ he could handle. He'd been here for fourteen years when dementors ruled the place; if he could survive that with his mind intact, he could survive anything. Truth be told, he rather preferred the dementors to aurors, they kept him from thinking too much. Now Bella, she'd suffered worse than he had, the dementors had exacerbated her tenuous grip on reality, breaking her fragile hold on sanity. They'd ruined her.

_Bella_. His eyes welled with tears to think of her, and for the life of him he didn't know why. Theirs had been an arranged marriage, an alliance between friendly families, and while he'd known Bella all his life, he could hardly say he loved her…not in the romantic way. She'd been seductive, sultry, and a good lay, to be crude, but he didn't _love_ her. She'd spent most of their married life as the dark lord's whore, which hadn't bothered Rodolphus in the least except inasmuch as it took away his own opportunities for carnal pleasure.

Nonetheless, they'd shared a life, shared ideals and principles. When all was said and done, he missed that. To know he'd never again share himself with anyone as he had with her was the most devastating, depressing blow of all. And so he spent his hours cursing the dark lord for leading them to this point and abandoning them yet again—this time for good. He cursed the aurors who lorded their freedom over him, and the citizens who despised him, and the wretched accommodations…and he cursed himself for being weak and stupid enough to get caught and hauled back to this hellhole, where he'd not even been given a trial. No need, they said, since he'd been given a life sentence earlier on.

"I said get up and step away from your mat," ordered a guard from the barred doorway.

Rodolphus lazily looked over and sneered at Percy, his voice thick with contempt. "F-k off, rodent."

Percy's face flushed red to match his hair. It was nearly quitting time, and he already resented being obliged to clean the prisoners' cells before leaving. He definitely didn't want a confrontation with someone who had absolutely nothing to lose. Man to man, he didn't stand a chance against the prisoner, whose stature dwarfed his own small frame. Even though Percy had a wand, he didn't dare let the other wizard gain the upper hand. Lestrange was here for life, there was nothing the thug could do to increase his stay of confinement, no more severe penalties to impose except those imposed by rogue aurors themselves. Unlike some of his fellow guards, Percy considered himself above petty retaliations, he observed the rules to the letter.

"If I have to move you myself, I will," warned Percy, earning him a scornful laugh. Scowling, he aimed the wand between the bars of the cell and shot a spell that bound Rodolphus' hands and feet, then he levitated him across the tiny room and set him on the floor. Another wave of his wand incinerated the old mat, a practice they'd instituted recently to reduce outbreaks of disease.

"Well that's just peachy, you little prick," growled Rodolphus. Now he'd have to sleep on the cold stone floor!

"Shut up," answered Weasley. He muttered an incantation that caused another mat, a brand new one, to appear. One more flick of the wand _scourgified_ the cell. "You're welcome," he said sarcastically.

"Whatta you want, a kiss? F-king pervert," snapped Rodolphus. "Let me go."

Percy relieved Rodolphus of his bindings. "From now on when I tell you to do something, do it."

"Or what? You'll _crucio_ me like the other guards do?" taunted Rodolphus, though anger flared in his eyes. "Or maybe you'll try to have your way with me like they do with the younger ones." He laughed again, a harsh rasp that held no mirth, for he spoke the truth. Everyone had heard stories of guards in the night taking their pleasure at the expense of those at their mercy, stories passed quickly from cell to cell, corridor to corridor. "You look like a virgin, I doubt you'd know what to do!"

"You're despicable," Percy seethed, turning to go back up the hall. This had been the last cell, he could go home now.

"What about you, Weasley!" Rodolphus barked suddenly, springing to the bars. "What makes you so different from me? How many did you kill at Hogwarts? How many have you tortured here?"

"None!" shouted Percy, wheeling on the inmate, a fierce fury in his face. "I can fight without killing, and I wouldn't lower myself to your level to torture innocent people! I don't even torture filth like you, though God knows I'm tempted sometimes!"

"Your mother murdered my wife," Rodolphus persisted. "She's no better than me."

"It was a fair duel and she was protecting my sister!" bellowed Percy so loudly it echoed up and down the corridor. "Even _you_ ought to be able to understand that." This time when he stalked off he ignored the jeers and calls of the other prisoners.

Rodolphus moved away from the bars and slumped down on the new mat. It smelled of fresh straw, the only fresh smell in the place, including himself. The narrow stone sink jutting from the wall was hardly conducive to bathing. Maybe tomorrow one of the aurors would come for the weekly _scourgifying_ of the prisoners. Pitiful as it may be, it was a huge step up from imprisonment with the dementors, when cleanliness was an unknown commodity.

He slipped the chip of stone Lucius had given him out of his shoe and began to carve another line in the wall.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Severus and Lucius arrived at the backside of the Lestrange property within a second of each other, apparating mere meters apart. Lucius regarded the area, then jutted his chin in the direction of the side of the house. Severus nodded and silently made his way around in the lingering light of dusk.

Lucius waited until he was sure he'd given Severus enough time to enter through a window, then he ascended the stone steps up onto the wooden porch. It creaked under his weight, making him halt in place, wand at ready. Slowly he edged up to the door, performed an unlocking charm, and opened it warily.

From the darkness in this part of the house, he saw light spilling from a room up the hall straight ahead and he heard men's voices. Straining his ears, he caught a snippet of Draco's voice and let out an involuntary sigh of relief, which was quickly replaced by renewed anger at the audacity of the brat to run away—to _here_, of all places, where Death Eaters were plotting a prison break!

Cautiously he inched up to where an old stairway loomed, to catch a glimpse of something from the corner of his eye; Lucius scarcely contained the gasp denoting a near heart attack when a shape came floating down right at him like a vampire and settled lightly on the floor. He scowled at Snape, who smirked in return. How could he have forgotten the master taught Snape to fly? Together they converged on the lit room, the voices growing louder and clearer. Severus hung back hidden by the wall as Lucius stepped into the doorway. Every head jerked his way, their eyes growing to the size of lemons, most of all Draco—though Nott did give him a run for his money. Hadn't he warned Rabastan about Malfoy's revenge?

"Well, well, isn't this cozy?" Lucius drawled.

He hadn't time to say any more. Varden drew his wand from his robes and shot a yellow hex that Malfoy barely deflected before returning one of his own. Seeing curses fly, instantly Snape was in on the fray. He jumped up beside Lucius and threw a spell at Nott, who'd foolishly drawn his wand as well. It winged the man's shoulder and he howled with pain and wrath.

Chaos ensued. By now no one had the time to ask questions or demand answers, for their concentration was on being victorious rather than victim. Rabastan faced Lucius in a very even match, both men furiously throwing curses and hexes that were invariably blocked or dodged by the opponent—fortunately so, as most of them were dark spells whose damage potential far exceeded the ordinary. Severus held off both Nott and Varden with the skill he'd honed from his years of fighting four Marauders at once, his countenance set in stony silence, his arm casting spells twice as fast as any of the others. Ricocheting spells smashed into walls and furniture, gouging plaster and destroying in minutes what it had taken years to accumulate.

Only Draco watched in awe, not sure of what to do. He bit his lip, struggling within himself. He ought to help someone, but who? Before he'd decided, he lifted his wand; his gaze met his father's, he narrowed his eyes and took aim. A moment later his wand was sailing through the air, courtesy of a non-verbal _expelliarmus_, right into Lucius' hand. Regrettably for Lucius, Rabastan's hammer-like curse caught him at that moment and threw him across the room. He crumpled to the floor, barely able to stave off the whimpers of agony welling up in him.

In a seemingly effortless series of moves, Severus cast a _stupefy_ that crashed into the unsuspecting Rabastan, and two more in quick succession to block Nott and Varden. Another lightning quick hex _petrified_ Nott and he fell like a board to the floor. Varden's hex flew inches past his head.

From the floor where Lucius had struggled to his knees, he shot a dark spell at Varden, sending him careening and screaming, his nerves feeling on fire. With all three down, Severus rushed forward to magically bind them lest they decide to renew the battle, then _accio_'d their wands for good measure.

"Lucius, are you alright?" Snape hunched down beside Malfoy, who had yet to get up from his knees and looked paler than his typical hale and hearty shade of white.

Lucius shook his head 'no' while choking out, "Fine."

"Fine, my arse," Severus growled.

Holding Lucius still, he yanked back his robes, revealing a slash across the torso accompanied by a monstrous bruise. Recoiling just a bit at the amount of blood suddenly visible—an amount not in any way healthy—he traced his wand over the gash while reciting a sing-song incantation that sealed it perfectly. A potion and poultice would be best for the bruise, but he had neither, so he settled for a generic healing charm that helped to ease the pain. Later he'd finish the job. A quick wave of the wand cleaned up the blood from skin and robes. Why was Lucius still not moving?

Snape strode over to tower above Rabastan, bending down far enough to dig his wand painfully into Rabastan's neck. "I advise you to carefully consider your answer, Lestrange. What did you hit Malfoy with? Are there lingering effects?" he demanded, his lips pulling back in a snarl.

Still suffering the aftereffects of the _stupefy_, Rabastan shook his head as if to clear it and grunted, "_Gercer_. Mostly it just hurts a lot and bleeds, but it can do internal damage if you hit in the right spot."

Restraining the urge to kick the idiot in the head, Snape swept a hovering Draco out of his way and crouched down beside Lucius, who had collapsed onto the floor. Running his wand over the bruised area, he was able to detect liver and spleen damage, which he immediately set about treating with organ restoring charms. Damn it all to Hades, now he'd need medicine for this, too!

"Is he alright, Severus?" asked Draco agitatedly from the spot Snape had shoved him to.

"No, he's not. I need healing potions," snapped Severus. In the back of his mind he fleetingly wondered when Draco had begun calling him 'Severus' instead of 'Uncle Sev'. At least Varden's screaming in the corner had tapered off to mewls; it had been getting on his nerves. Severus recognized the curse, he'd seen Lucius use it before. It produced massive fire-like pain that diminished over time without lasting damage, so he would require no attention.

"Varden has some potions," piped up Rabastan, feeling uncharacteristically guilty. Generally in a fight he dueled people he didn't know or care about; he honestly hadn't meant to hurt Malfoy, the curse had escaped almost of its own accord from years of practice. "I think there's some healing ones in the kitchen."

Wary of leaving Draco to watch over the downed wizards, Snape snatched him by the collar and dragged him forcibly along behind as he stormed into the kitchen, calling out _lumos_. "Check the cabinets, find the potions," he ordered even as he began to do the same, opening and slamming cupboard doors in rapid succession.

"Right here!" exclaimed Draco after only two cupboards.

Severus made haste to examine the jars and vials. There weren't many, but at any rate they were clearly labeled. The closest one to what he needed was labeled simply _Wounds_. He held the vial up to the light, smelled it, then took a taste; it was a simple, multi-purpose healing potion. It wasn't perfect, but better than nothing. Carrying it in one fist, his wand gripped in the other, he hurried back to Lucius, knelt down, and propped the wizard's head up.

"Drink this."

Lucius did as ordered; force of habit of obeying his father, who'd tended him various times when he'd been injured, made certain of that. "Tastes awful," he complained, wrinkling his nose.

"If you'd stop getting yourself hurt, I wouldn't have to feed you this rubbish," Snape retorted. "Have you ever heard of _reflexes_? Perhaps you should develop yours."

_Typical Snape, always reacts to grave situations with snide remarks_, Lucius thought, to his odd amusement. Really, he needed to learn to loosen up. It wasn't as though this injury was life threatening, was it? "I love you, too, Snape," he chuckled, making his gut ache. Maybe it was a bad idea to joke so soon after all.

With tension running high in the room, no one spoke for several minutes. Severus ministered to Lucius like an old hen (in his opinion), watching to make sure he didn't go into shock, checking his pupils, glaring around the room with that deathly Snape glare that had mentally scarred scores of pupils at Hogwarts. When he'd ascertained Lucius would survive until he could get him home and use decent potions on him, he got up and levitated the three bound wizards into a row, sitting propped up against the sofa.

Astonishingly—more to Lucius than anyone—he'd already begun to feel a great deal better, to the point he was able to sit up without assistance, still clutching his wand in one hand, Draco's in the other. Utilizing his best glower, of strikingly similarity to Snape's, he sent a hard glare at Rabastan, causing the man to turn his head away. He reserved another glare for Draco, who'd seated himself on the arm of a wingchair, perched anxiously, not knowing what to expect. He did seem relieved to see his father sitting up, which softened Lucius' look ever so slightly.

"Draco, don't you _ever_ raise your wand to me again," Lucius purred in the voice that made his son's knees go weak. "Do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir," mumbled Draco. "I'm sorry, I wasn't going to hurt you."

"What were you going to do?"

The boy paused, stymied. He honestly didn't know the answer to that question. He'd wanted to stop the fight, to make his father go home, but beyond that he hadn't a clue. He gulped before admitting, "I don't know, Father."

"I'll deal with you when we get home." Anticipating a squawking protest, Lucius was mildly surprised to encounter no resistance whatsoever. He recognized in his son's wide eyes the fear he'd habitually seen when Draco had been apprehended in a bold display of mischief. And he saw something else…regret?

"Whatever you say, Father," said Draco quietly, ducking his head. He deserved whatever he got, his running off had almost caused the elder Malfoy to be killed. He couldn't have lived with himself if that had happened.

Lucius forced himself unsteadily to his feet, traversed the short distance to face the boy, and to the shock of everyone present he threw an arm around Draco's neck and pulled him into an embrace. "I'm grateful we found you well," he murmured.

"I'm glad you are, too," Draco answered softly, holding on to Lucius as much to keep him from falling as to show his affection.

Lucius let go and turned to face the three on the floor, his features hardened once more. "What the hell is the matter with you? I came to get my son, not to fight you!"

"I didn't know who you were," Varden sniffed defiantly. "You broke into my house with your wand drawn."

"When Snape started firing, so did I," confessed Nott.

"By then I figured you were out for blood," interjected Rabastan. "I had to defend myself. And you're here with _Snape_," he added, as if the statement were self-explanatory.

Severus stalked up to tower over Rabastan again, a sour expression replacing his concerned one. "Meaning?"

"Meaning you're a traitor! Draco told us all about how you were working for Dumbledore and against us!"

Momentarily losing composure, Severus shot a glance at Draco, who stared back with unadulterated loathing. Just as quickly, his mask snapped back into place, fully restored. Choosing his words carefully he said, "I did what I believe was the right thing to hasten the end to the war. The dark lord was a crazed maniac who treated his followers no better than his enemies. I defy any of you to deny it."

Rabastan spat back, "So you didn't care what your spy information did to us, did you? We all—you too, Lucius—ended up in Azkaban because _somebody_ notified the authorities we were in the Department of Mysteries and the Order of the Phoenix showed up. I _wonder_ how they could have known. What else did you do against us?"

"It was my job to protect the Potter brat!" Severus shouted. "_I_ gave Voldemort the prophecy that started the whole thing, _I_ caused the Potters to die!" He heaved a few deep, heavy breaths, calming himself. "To atone for what I'd done, Dumbledore charged me with keeping the whelp alive; it was that or spend my life in Azkaban, and in my shoes I doubt you'd have made a different choice."

"I wouldn't have ratted out my friends!" Rabastan growled.

"Easy to say," sneered Severus. "You only served one megalomaniac, I had to dance on a tightrope between two of them. Are you sad to see Voldemort dead?" At their wincing yet again at the mention of his name, Severus pounded it home, "Yes, I said _Voldemort_. His name doesn't frighten me anymore because I'm free—you're free of him, thanks to the Potter puke I babysat for years!"

Here Lucius stepped up beside his friend. The ache in his gut had faded to a throbbing annoyance. "Severus could have given up a list of our names any time in the past sixteen years, but he didn't. Not one name. He never purposely hurt any of us, he only did what he had to do to protect Potter. If you want to feel betrayed, the dark lord betrayed us. He wasn't even pureblood, he didn't care anything for our superiority or our rule. All he wanted was to rule over everybody, wizards and Muggles alike, and he used us as pawns to do his dirty work. You saw how he treated me all year long—worse than a Muggle! After all I'd done in his service!"

"Yeah, he did," agreed Nott. His mind whirled at all the accusations flying around, not the least being Voldemort's lack of pureblood status. Potter had said so in the Department of Mysteries, but they'd all discounted it as ranting. Now Lucius was acknowledging it as truth. "So everything was a lie?"

"Far as I can tell," said Lucius, beginning to sway slightly. "We meant nothing to Voldemort, and there's no way I can see him sharing power with us. It was all a grand lie and we got sucked in."

Severus grabbed his arm. "Draco, come here. Hold your father's other arm, we need to take him home." He tossed the other men's wands on the far side of the room and released them from their bonds. "I have no quarrel with any of you, and I'd like to keep it that way."

Together he and Draco guided Lucius out to the front porch from which they disapparated. Upon reaching Malfoy Manor, they hauled him into the house and Snape apparated up to Abraxas' potion room—his wife's old study—to sort through and pick out those he'd need. Despite the fact that Abraxas had died a few years earlier, the room was still remarkably well stocked.

An hour later, with Lucius tucked safely in bed under the watchful, loving eye of Narcissa, Severus prepared to leave for Spinner's End. Lucius would be fine by morning; Draco was still sullen and uncommunicative…hopefully he'd ruminate on tonight's conversation and reevaluate his position.

It bothered Severus to know Draco harbored such virulence toward him, more so knowing there was not a bloody thing he could do to change it. He'd had no idea the depth of betrayal the boy felt, and could he blame him? He'd blithely gone about his spying duties while Draco's mistrust for him intensified, he'd—in Draco's mind—usurped Lucius' position with the master, and for Draco to learn his own godfather had been working against him must have dealt the most terrible blow. He was so young, he saw things in black and white, not the hideous shades of gray that Severus lived in.

He arrived home exhausted and in a bad mood—that is to say, a worse mood than usual. The insistent tapping of a decrepit old owl on his window sill was most unwelcome. He thrust open the window, snatched the parchment off its leg, and slammed the window shut again. The owl looked confused, tilted its head almost horizontal, then turned and flew off. Severus unrolled the letter.

_Dear Severus,_

_Congratulations on your acquittal! The Weasley family invites you to join us for dinner the day after tomorrow, 6 o'clock sharp. Harry will be here; we hope you can come._

_Molly Weasley _

Severus stared curiously at the letter. Congratulations? He'd not received any word to the effect that he'd finally been cleared. As far as Potter's presence, Molly could scarcely have offered a stronger deterrent. When in all of Potter's life had Severus been eager to spend time with him? Not to mention the Weasley clan were a gaggle of barbarians who, now that he considered it, were likely playing a prank. The redheaded brats enjoyed the game of 'Taunt the Dungeon Bat'.

How he despised them all…well, not Molly, if he were completely truthful. She'd always been decent to him. Tomorrow he'd have to owl her to officially decline. If he wanted to challenge his sanity, surely there were less excruciating ways.


	10. Hell Hath No Fury

Death Eater No More—Chapter Ten (Hell Hath No Fury)

The room was still dim and somewhat stuffy when Lucius cracked his eyes open and turned his head to peer at his wife, who lay uncovered, her tiny nightgown bunching up around her waist. Her blond mane lay splayed across her pillow. Lightly he ran his fingers down the velvety soft skin of her arm, smiling to himself. So beautiful; after all these years she was as lovely to him as the girl he'd become entranced with when he was no more than a boy. How he loved to watch her sleep, so like an angel come down from heaven!

As if to disabuse him of such notions, Narcissa snorted a loud snore, mumbling as she rolled over onto her side. Undeterred, Lucius slyly scooted over beside her, grinning mischievously while plotting his seduction. He raised up on one elbow, gently draping the other arm around her waist, having difficulty refraining from fondling certain choice body parts. With his locks dangling across and tickling her face, Lucius kissed her on the ear, the cheek, the forehead. With his tongue he traced delicate circles and swirls down the side of her face.

Narcissa moaned and waved a hand at the irritant, smacking him on the nose, which elicited an exclamation of pain and surprise. She rolled over rubbing her eyes and sat up. "Oh, it's you. Sorry, honey. I thought it was a dog licking my face, and I wondered when we'd got a dog."

Stroking his reddened nose, Lucius snapped, "I wasn't _licking_ your face, I was demonstrating my boundless love and attraction for you by using the sensual ploy of—well if I have to explain it, it doesn't count!" He pulled back over to his side of the bed to pout.

"I love you, too, sweetheart," she cooed as she snuggled up next to him. She laid a hand on his bare chest to toy with the soft white-blond hair and nibbled his cheek. He stubbornly refused to look at her.

"Humph!" he grunted, though he did move his face a fraction closer, the better to be kissed, and guided her hand down to his nether region, which joyously trumpeted his desire. "If you want to make it up to me, I'd be amenable to that."

"Not in your condition," Narcissa answered. "Besides, I need to get ready for my medi-witch appointment."

She started to rise but Lucius pulled her back. "What condition? There's not even a scar, the bruise is gone." He glanced down at his torso. "Well, almost gone. I feel fine. And your appointment is this _afternoon_."

"Sorry, love, I won't take chances with your health." She bounded out of bed; when Lucius started to get up, too, she commanded, "You stay right there! You're not well."

"I'm not an invalid, Narcissa."

"You will be if you get out of that bed without Severus' permission!" she threatened, brandishing the wand she'd picked up off her nightstand.

"I cannot believe you're holding your husband at wand-point." The statement had no effect. Grimacing comically, he lay back and crossed his arms over his chest. This was the thanks he got for loving the wench! "I have to pee."

"You didn't have to a minute ago when you wanted to play," Narcissa reminded him. Already she felt her resolve fading. How could she look at that sexy, incorrigible man without her heart flipping wildly beneath her bosom? And what if he actually _did_ have to go? That was one mess she had no desire or intention of witnessing. "Alright, use the bathroom and come right back."

Smirking triumphantly, Lucius shuffled to the edge of the bed and got up. He highly doubted Narcissa had the fortitude to hex someone she loved, especially if she thought he was ill, so he was far from worried. It was the principle of the thing.

He could easily overpower her and take her wand, which he wouldn't do. _A Malfoy man respects women_…he didn't remember offhand what number on the list that was, but his father had raised him properly. And anyway, he couldn't countenance grappling with his wife; it seemed somehow lowbrow and obscene, something a Muggle would do, not a pureblood wizard. For the same reason he couldn't simply grab his own wand and duel it out. Aside from the respect he held for Narcissa, he might seriously injure her; from years of dueling he knew hundreds of spells, many of them lethal. No, he would never hurt Narcissa. Even sweet talking her to get close enough to snatch her wand seemed too devious to enact on the woman he loved.

Resigned to waiting for Severus to drag his lazy arse to the manor to tell him what he already knew, that he was in tip-top shape, Lucius plodded to the bathroom and back, then sat heavily on the bed. Narcissa tilted her head ever so slightly in a prompting manner and he threw himself back on the pillow.

"You're evil, woman," he drawled. "I still need to talk to Draco about his foolish little escapade. I'm not exactly authoritative while lying in bed."

Narcissa bent down to kiss him once more. "It's only for a little while. Severus said he'd be over this morning. And I don't want you talking to Draco without me."

"Why not?" What did she think he was going to do—beat Draco with his cane? Which didn't seem altogether like a bad idea now that he thought of it. If he'd utilized that cane on his son as often as Abraxas had on _him_, there never would have been a problem because the boy wouldn't have dared do anything so stupid as running away to join up with Death Eaters!

"I know what you're thinking," Narcissa said with a dangerous glint in her eye. "You will not punish him until we hear what he has to say, and even then I'm not sure I'll allow it. He's not a child, we need to treat him more like a young man."

"Then perhaps he should stop acting like a child," retorted Lucius. Narcissa wouldn't _allow_ it? As patriarch of the Malfoy family, his word was law…or _ought_ to be. Things certainly had changed in recent generations, and not always for the better! To appease her he said, "I'll wait for you, are you happy?"

"Ecstatic," she replied, still regarding him coolly with something akin to the evil eye.

Was he being sincere? He was a Malfoy, there were certain lines they didn't cross, and he'd given his word—word he might unrepentantly break with anyone outside the family, but not _within_ the family. Satisfied, she tucked her wand into her dressing robe and went into the bathroom. Had Lucius' mother ever been forced to put her foot down with a stubborn Abraxas? She'd died when Lucius was only two, yet Abraxas' similarity to his son both in appearance and personality gave her the idea that Thalia had her hands every bit as full as Narcissa herself did. The thought made her smile. Those Malfoy men!

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A pounding in Severus' head jolted him from a sound sleep on the sitting room couch where he'd crashed last night. No wait—the pounding was coming from the front door. He rolled off the sofa and stumbled across the room fingering the wand in his pocket. It probably wasn't a wizard if he was banging on the door, right?

"Who is it?" he growled. His voice sounded especially rough so early in the morning, and his perennially greasy hair hung in limp strands around his beard-stubbled face, giving him a tough, unkempt look that fit right in with the undesirables of the neighborhood.

"It's me, Papa," Jacinta called.

Severus threw open the door, not bothering to disguise his surprise and concern. "Jacinta, what are you doing? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she answered evasively, barging past him. She halted to peck his cheek before walking into the living room. "I didn't come in the back way because I didn't want to run the risk of startling you into thinking there was an intruder. We both know how ugly it could get if you hexed first and asked questions later."

A deadpan expression greeted her. Of course he would hex an intruder, what did she expect him to do? "What brings you here so early?"

Jacinta edged over to the couch, sat down, and patted the seat beside her. "I need to talk to you."

"You're not pregnant, are you?" exclaimed Severus, simultaneously slamming the door and stomping over to her.

The young woman rolled her eyes. "Not unless it's a virgin conception. But thank you for jumping to that conclusion."

"You wanted to 'talk', it's very early, you came here rather than speak to your mother," he retorted lamely. He had jumped to conclusions, so what?

In a fine imitation of her father, Jacinta smirked impishly. "If I _was_ pregnant, it's nothing you and Mama didn't do."

He sneered back. If the girl thought for one second she could out-smirk or out-sneer her father, she had another think coming! "You should be grateful. You wouldn't be here otherwise."

"Am I supposed to thank you?" she asked dryly, settling back on the couch. "And anyway, don't worry. Daddy chases away any young men who express interest in me."

Severus cocked his eyebrow with interest. "Good. I'll have to thank Jack later."

"So much for ever getting married," grumbled the girl. Both her fathers were turning out to be overprotective ogres. "Come sit down, Papa. I have to show you something…you should see it with someone who loves you."

Intrigued in the worst possible way, like drunken butterflies rampaging through his stomach, he lowered himself onto the couch. Jacinta opened her handbag and withdrew a copy of the morning's _Daily Prophet_, which she handed to him with a worried gleam lighting her face. The front page headline, flashing above a particularly dreadful photo of Snape on a _really_ bad hair day, screamed _Severus Snape: Death Eater or Hero?_

Severus' heart leaped—the Potter brat had finally made good on his promise! Or had he? Jacinta looked afraid to be near him just now, and he'd never laid a hand on her in her entire life. Maybe it was pity he saw; he ought to sort it out but he couldn't, not when he needed to read the newspaper, find out if his life still hung in limbo or if he was free…or a wanted man.

_Contrary to common belief, it has been verified that the ex-headmaster of Hogwarts, Severus Snape, is alive and well somewhere in Britain. In a private meeting called by Minister of Magic Kinsley Shacklebolt and the wizarding world's golden boy Harry Potter, twelve citizens—including yours truly and several members of the Wizengamot—were made privy to the memories of a near-dead Severus Snape, memories given to Potter in order to alert him to a task necessary to defeat Lord Voldemort. Until that time, Snape was purported to be not only a Death Eater, but the second in command to Voldemort himself._

Severus snorted. Second in command? Apparently these people had no idea of the power structure within the Death Eater circle…or lack of power structure, as it were. Lord Voldemort did not designate a second, since he had no intention of relinquishing any power. His 'most trusted', the spot Snape filled for the last year, was a most delicate position that could change at any moment on a whim.

_One by one we traveled through Snape's memories in the pensieve. We saw excerpts of his traumatic childhood with battling parents, his friendship with a little Muggleborn girl who was later to become Lily Potter, Harry's mother, and his years at Hogwarts. It became evident to all of us that Snape repented of his decision to join the Death Eaters when but a young man, primarily due to the love he bore for Lily Potter. This in spite of the animosity he bore her husband James._

Severus' stomach clenched and he felt his teeth clamp down sharply. That was no one's business! If the council needed to see his pitiful life to free him, so be it, but there existed no reason for anyone else to know! And to drag Lily into this!

_We were all of one accord in agreeing that Snape was more than justified in his hatred of James Potter, who had mercilessly tormented him throughout his student years at Hogwarts, to the point of public degradation on more than one occasion. For this reporter's part, when I saw James Potter hanging Snape upside down to pants him in front of a jeering crowd, I wanted to curse the bully myself!_

By now Snape was grinding his teeth so hard Jacinta could hear it, his features twisted into a livid display of hatred. Was it not bad enough he had to live with the humiliating memory? To broadcast it to the world was unconscionable! What had any of this to do with freeing him??

_It seems only fitting to this reporter that Harry Potter, son of his despised nemesis, should be the one to bring to light the true Severus Snape, the courageous, selfless man who acted as a spy under Albus Dumbledore for over sixteen years at great risk to his own life. The information he gathered as a spy proved invaluable to the downfall of Voldemort. While it is true Voldemort was gone for a long period of time, Snape dared not reveal his true allegiance lest the other Death Eaters try to murder him for disloyalty to their lord._

Snape scanned, without grasping a word, the rest of the article that described in detail his protection of Harry, Dumbledore's manipulations of Snape and the boy, his inestimable aid in defeating Voldemort, even his 'death' in the Shrieking Shack—obviously supplied by Potter himself, and lastly his acquittal of all charges by the Ministry. The fury boiling in his brain precluded comprehension at this point. This was Potter's fault, it had to be! He'd shown them the memories, he could have insured they not be shown the most mortifying one! The wretch had probably laughed himself silly to view it again, and to watch each of the other wizards and witches witnessing Snape's shame must have cheered him no end.

"Jacinta, go home now. I'd like to be alone."

"Papa, I know this is embarrassing, but—"

"Jacinta!" he thundered, making her jump. Through force of willpower he lowered the volume several notches to a mere seethe. "Please go." If he _inadvertently_ trashed the house in a fit of rage, he didn't want his daughter to see it, let alone risk injuring her.

The young woman got up, hugged him awkwardly, and headed for the back garden from where she could disapparate. She paused at the door. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he returned automatically, staring unseeing at the paper in his hands.

After she left, he remained where he was for some time as the wrath built up, his body trembling with the adrenalin flowing through his veins. Oh, he was SO going to the Weasleys home tomorrow! And Potter had better pray he didn't wring that scrawny little neck that held up his brainless head!

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Breakfast passed pleasantly enough for the Malfoys, despite Severus' ill-tempered appearance earlier wherein he ranted on at length about the unmitigated gall of the ungrateful Potter whelp. None of the family had a clue what had set him off, but it wasn't unusual for him to verbally tear down Potter, so they let it go. He'd checked Lucius and pronounced him fit—at which Lucius had barely resisted a taunting I-told-you-so to his wife, then Snape had gone off on his diatribe again. Fortunately for the Malfoys, he'd refused their offer of breakfast and stormed out, taking the whirlwind of fury with him. For Draco it was a relief not to speak to his godfather, whom he'd not yet forgiven for his perceived betrayal.

When Lucius picked up the newspaper at the table, he understood what had put his best friend in such a mood. Severus never spoke of his time at Hogwarts for good reason, of which this article was proof. To showcase such a terrible time of his life for public sport…as much as Snape loathed pity, Lucius pitied him now. Those reporters for the _Daily Prophet_ prized gossip over news, and it showed repeatedly in their writing.

When he saw Draco getting up, he laid the paper down. "Draco, your mother and I need to speak to you. We are very disappointed in your actions," he began, quite pleased with himself for his superlative control. His son slid back into his chair, refraining from justifying his actions; he dropped his eyes and mumbled a general apology. It heartened Lucius, for if the whole conversation went this well, Draco would offer to castigate himself and _he_ wouldn't have to do anything. "It was foolhardy and immature to run away merely because I slapped you—under provocation, I might add. I will not tolerate insolence."

"I'm sorry, Father," repeated the boy, staring fixedly at his lap. "But that isn't the only reason I left."

Oh sure, throw a wrench in when it's running perfectly! Narcissa and Lucius both looked at the lad questioningly.

"Why then, Draco?" asked Narcissa.

Reluctantly the young man lifted his eyes to his mother where he knew he'd find refuge, assiduously avoiding even a casual glance at his father. "At school everyone always banded together against the Slytherins. That's how it is now in the wizarding world, only they're all against _us_, against our family. Our name is ruined and it's Father's fault."

All sound came to a grinding halt. Sisidy, puttering around with the dishes in the corner, lifted her head in horror. Narcissa sucked in a gasp of air and peered over at her husband, anticipating a scathing rebuttal or worse. It wasn't completely unknown for his temper to get the better of him. The man sat absolutely rigid, his face unreadable, which in itself meant his reaction must be terrible if he felt he had to hide it. Only his grey eyes betrayed the slightest hint of life.

"Draco, don't blame your father, there were a lot of things out of his control."

"I went to help free Uncle Rodolphus because I knew Father wouldn't like it," confessed Draco, to the astonished fear of Narcissa. "I was angry because if he hadn't been a Death Eater, I wouldn't have been, either. That's the whole reason we're being ostracized."

_Son, please shut up_, Narcissa begged silently, but he couldn't or wouldn't heed her.

"He brought me up to be a bossy, manipulative bastard that everyone hates—Goyle told me so, he said he never liked me, nobody does!" Draco stopped, panting slightly from emotion.

Still no reaction from Lucius. Narcissa was becoming seriously worried. "Sweetie, that's not true. Maybe Goyle feels that way, but that isn't everyone. When I contacted Pansy to ask if she'd seen you, she was quite distressed about your disappearance. That wouldn't be the case if she didn't like you."

Tempted to scoff yet heartened a bit, Draco replied, "Goyle said he's going to marry her. They signed the agreement contract."

Gobsmacked, Narcissa hesitated in order to process what she'd heard. Who in their right mind would choose that Goyle blockhead over her darling son? "But I thought she was your girlfriend."

Draco shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "So did I. It's not like I love her or anything, but she could've _told_ me."

"You should call on her, find out what's going on. She suggested it."

"She did?" he asked, truly surprised. "Maybe I will."

Just when things seemed to be looking up, Lucius cleared his throat. Not daring to avoid the man any longer, Draco warily swung his head toward his father. "We have not finished our discussion, son."

"Father, I was only being honest! I didn't mean any disrespect, I shouldn't have said—"

"You're right, Draco. This whole situation we find ourselves in is my fault," said Lucius quietly. His wife and son stared in open-mouthed wonder at his admission. "The motivation that prompted me to become a Death Eater is irrelevant."

At this Narcissa paled. Draco had never heard the truth, that Lucius had been a mere boy of sixteen when he pledged himself to the dark lord in exchange for a favor: the elimination of Narcissa's fiancé. She'd been forced to make an Unbreakable Vow promising to wed Ivan, a man she despised. There had been no way for Narcissa to be with Lucius, short of Ivan's death; while he didn't repent of marrying Narcissa, many times he'd bemoaned being in service to the maniac.

"Because of my affiliation, you were forced to serve Lord Voldemort, and I'm sorry. I never wanted that. I hold the deepest regret for all the hurt I've caused my family, and I intend to do everything within my power to rectify things. You believe I've raised you improperly…I'm afraid I must agree. The world isn't receptive to pureblood superiority, and though I will not denounce it, I should have been more circumspect in teaching you when and how to express that superiority."

Draco seemed at a loss for words. Lucius Malfoy did not make a habit of apologizing or of admitting he was wrong, and yet he'd just done that very thing. And he'd done so without shouting or hitting or utilizing any form of intimidation!

Lucius went on doggedly, saying what must be said to clear the air, to begin anew. "However, your mother and I have a child on the way. I cannot and will not roll over and die because the world hates me. I will be strong for my baby and for my wife and for you, Draco. I owe that to you."

"I'm sorry for what I said about you not having any business having another kid," said Draco in a murmur. He really didn't want to make his sire angry all over again.

"Accepted," said Lucius, right before he went on, making the boy cringe. Now the shoe was going to drop! "Additionally, I want you to understand that your brash behavior will not be permitted in the future. You will work together with us to promote the family's well-being."

"Yes, Father," said the lad meekly.

"I also expect you to apologize to Severus."

At this Draco balked. "Why? Everything I said was true!"

"There are many things you do not understand," clipped Lucius with a hard edge to his voice. "If Severus hadn't been watching over Potter, where would we be now? Squirming under the _Cruciatus_ while proclaiming our undying devotion to a madman? Is that what you want?" His voice oozed contempt.

"No, sir, but Snape worked against us! He made you go to Azkaban!"

"Severus never meant to hurt me—or you—but his prime objective was to get rid of the dark lord by whatever means necessary or possible, and that meant keeping _Potter_ alive. Yes, I'm sorry I went to Azkaban, I'm sorry you think he doesn't love you, but he does. He had to choose the nobler cause, and I don't fault him for it. Voldemort is gone, thanks in large part to him. Our lives would still be hell if the dark lord hadn't been killed. If you give yourself time to think about it, you'll see I'm right."

_You're not always right, Father_, thought the boy subversively. And yet, his father was usually right, and very intelligent. He wouldn't stand by Snape if he had an inkling that the man couldn't be trusted. "I'll think about it," he promised.

"Think about it in your room. You're grounded for the rest of the day. And be grateful I didn't make it a month," drawled Lucius smoothly.

Now _that_ sounded more like Father! Draco got up, excused himself, and headed upstairs. He'd gotten off quite light for his stupid antics, much less than he'd feared. Either the elder Malfoy was growing soft, or he truly meant everything he'd said. Still, to be on the safe side he'd best not piss him off too often.

Narcissa reached across the table to intertwine her fingers with her husband's. He shot her a tiny leering smile that clearly suggested he'd done as she wished, now where was his reward?

Narcissa smiled coyly. "Thank you for going easy on Draco, my love. You did the right thing. Would you like to accompany me upstairs?"


	11. Friends

Death Eater No More—Chapter Eleven (Friends)

Draco had never been nervous or flustered around girls—or anyone else, for that matter. Why should he be when his pedigree set him high above most other mortals? His father's wealth and name made him the object of profuse attention from both genders; being a rich and powerful Malfoy automatically insured that others would try to win his favor for their own ends. To protect him from exploitation, years of repeated lectures at the elder Malfoy's side had taught him to regard such people as the pariahs they were. Lamentably, his upbringing had taught him to regard _everyone_ as lesser, and even if his bloodline was purer than the rest, it made for a lonely life.

Not everything Lucius had spouted was true or beneficial…Draco had come to that painful realization the hard way. To be fair, he couldn't lay the full blame on his father, who'd only been regurgitating centuries' worth of Malfoy tradition. And, if Draco were honest with himself, he hadn't exactly put himself out there in an attempt to win friends. He'd relied on his family reputation, and now he had no reputation left to stand on.

On that note, here he was at Pansy's house debating within himself whether to ring the bell or slink off unnoticed while he had the chance. Mother had assured him Pansy would be happy to see him; he only wished he had a guarantee of that. Being an outcast, aside from the obvious drawbacks, was a soul-crushing experience.

He twisted the bell knob and heard it ring shrilly in the house. An elf admitted him into the front parlor where he began to pace anxiously as he waited. Getting a grip on himself, he remembered who he was. What was he doing? He was a _Malfoy_, for crying out loud! Ruined name or no, he needed to observe suitable manners. He stopped pacing abruptly, brushed down his robes, and projected a false air of confidence—no small feat with his stomach doing flip-flops rather boisterously in his gut.

"Draco!" Pansy came in smiling, something not often seen at Hogwarts unless she was laughing at the misfortune of another or sneering at a foe. While some might describe her as hard faced, the smile changed her appearance to almost pretty.

"Hi, Pansy." Great, he was acting like the idiot Ron Weasley, incapable of a coherent sentence consisting of more than four words. "My mother said you'd extended an invitation."

"Why are you so formal all of a sudden?" she asked, wrinkling her nose until she resembled a pug. "And where were you? Your mum said you'd gone off somewhere."

"I…went to see some old acquaintances of my father, only I didn't tell him first," said Draco evasively.

"Oh. Well, I'm glad you're alright. You had me worried," she said with a pout.

"Why's that?"

"Why do you think?" retorted Pansy.

"Truthfully, I don't know. I _thought_ we were seeing each other, but Goyle tells me you're engaged." Draco's lips pulled back into a slight pucker, his grey eyes skewering her until she squirmed. While he certainly was no Lucius, he'd inherited at least a bit of Father's intimidation.

Pansy licked her suddenly dry lips. "I barely saw you all of sixth year, with you being in the Room of Requirement all the time. And this past year you seemed so distant—how can you claim we were dating when we never even spent time together alone?"

"I was preoccupied," snapped Draco. "The dark lord didn't care for my love life. Are you trying to say I drove you into Goyle's arms?" A derisive snort capped off what had originally been intended as a highly sophisticated argument.

To his astonishment, Pansy didn't refute his assertion. She primly minced across the floor to seat herself on the sofa, acutely aware of his glare stabbing her in the back.

"You were never around," she stated accusingly. "Gregory was. Around Halloween he started paying me attention, and you didn't even notice! Over Christmas holiday he visited me a few times and even gave me this." She fingered the fine gold chain with a single small diamond hanging down the hollow of her throat.

"You told me your mum gave you that!"

"I lied," she said plainly, with a caustic undertone. "Come Easter holiday, I'd got pretty tired of being alone. You were nowhere to be found, and Gregory came by to visit, which you didn't bother to do. It was only natural we'd start to get close."

"So you've been sneaking behind my back with that cretin all year?" yelped Draco.

"Stop calling him names! He pays me attention, he loves me. And he's a good kisser!" she shrieked, mostly to annoy Draco for his insult to her intended, though this was no lie. Gregory was a better kisser than Draco, but despite the situation, she didn't want to hurt his feelings by saying so. It was enough he'd found out about their duplicity.

'Gregory' reverberated through Draco's head, sounding for all the world like a foreign word. That retard wasn't 'Gregory', he was Goyle the blockhead who was hopelessly inept at magic and practically brain dead besides! How dare Pansy choose him over a Malfoy?

Sneering, he asked, "How close did you get? Can we expect a _bundle of joy_ in the near future? Is that why you're getting married?"

Eyes flashing with pure animosity he'd only seen directed at others, Pansy leaped up, wand aimed right at Draco's face. "I'm a proper lady, Malfoy. I don't fool around until I'm wed, as you ought to know! Take it back or so help me I'll blast you into next week!"

Knowing the girl as he did, he had no doubt she'd make good on her threat. He put up his hands, palms out in a mocking surrender. "I take it back, that was a vulgar lack of decorum. But why are you marrying Goyle?" he ended in an exclamation of bewilderment.

"Can you earnestly say you love me, Draco?"

He hesitated, a sign women the world over recognize instinctively as the death knell. Even before her confession of her affair with Goyle, his answer would have been the same. "No," he confessed slowly. "But we were dating…"

"That's all we were doing, and not much of that," said Pansy, sitting down once more and smoothing her skirt over her knees. Notably her wand was still in her hand. "I don't love you, either. We're friends, that's all. Why are you so upset?"

"Goyle told me everyone hates me." He felt silly divulging this to her after everything they'd already said.

Pansy rolled her eyes and scoffed, "You're smarter than that. Can't you see Gregory is jealous of you? We were dating, you're intelligent and handsome…he sees you as a rival for my affections. And you can't deny you treated him badly all those years."

Draco shrugged one shoulder as he slid down onto the arm of a chair, lazily swinging one leg. "Maybe I did, and maybe he does love you, but I still don't understand what you see in that oaf."

If it weren't too much trouble to do so, Pansy would have got up to smack his face. The nerve of him, insulting her husband-to-be repeatedly! "You wonder why he doesn't like you? Would you like being bossed around all the time while being called names like 'stupid', 'idiot', and 'oaf'?"

"But he _is_ stupid," Draco insisted.

"No, he's not!" she barked, making Draco wince at her temper. "Maybe he's not as smart as a lot of people at book work, but he's smart at other things."

"Like what?" challenged Draco.

Pansy got up again, took the young man by the hand, and led him into the sitting room across the hall. She brought him to a tall, broad wooden cabinet similar to a wardrobe; it was beautiful, delicately carved with intricate patterns that, with a wave of her wand, rearranged themselves into images of herself and Goyle, migrated to the center, and kissed each other chastely on the lips before returning to their positions.

"Gregory made this for me as an engagement present. He worked on it for weeks before he even proposed." The pride shining in her eyes told Draco all he needed to know: this was no arranged marriage or scheme to make him jealous. Pansy was getting married because she wanted to…because for some godforsaken reason, she loved him. "He treats me like a princess, he's kind to me, and he's got a great body when he takes off his shirt. I can't ask for more than that."

"Thank you for that disturbing mental image," said Draco drolly. Could he really blame Pansy for enjoying being fawned over? She'd catered to Draco when they were 'an item', yet Draco had never reciprocated. Goyle apparently gave her what she wanted. Should he begrudge her happiness? "Congratulations on your engagement."

"Thank you. And I think Gregory will get over his snit in time."

_Like I care_, thought Draco, even while reflecting that maybe he did care a little. They'd known each other from infancy, and even if the relationship was lopsided, he missed it. "You and I can be friends without Goyle's permission."

"Of course. I don't take orders from Gregory now, and I won't when we're married." She glanced at the grandfather clock across the room when it began to chime. "Sorry, but I have an appointment with my mum's wedding planner. Mum is determined to make it a grand affair or a spectacle, I haven't figured out which."

Grinning, Draco inclined his head. "Have a good time. I'll see you soon, then?"

"Sure. We'll get together soon for lunch. I'll owl you."

"It's a date—well, not _really_ a date since you're betrothed, but you know what I mean," he replied as she walked him to the door.

He meandered across the porch, pausing before he disapparated. Who would have imagined a Malfoy had fallen so low as to be grateful that his ex-girlfriend, who basically dumped him for a musclehead, continued to be his chum? Just to know he had friends in spite of everything meant more to him than he'd acknowledge even under torture, which he found oddly pathetic.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

_Don't kill. Don't kill._ Severus had been repeating the mantra all afternoon. If he could remember that primary rule, everything would be fine. So he assured himself as he combed his thrice-washed hair, grimacing at the image in the mirror. Yes, despite what his students, colleagues, or anyone else believed, he actually _did_ make a habit of washing his hair—a futile venture, to be sure. From childhood he'd suffered from overactive sebaceous glands that sabotaged every effort to look presentable. Even now, scarcely an hour since getting out of the shower, his black locks were rapidly morphing into stringy clumps.

He ran his fingers through his mane, sighing. At times he truly envied bald men. If it weren't socially unacceptable among wizards, he'd be perfectly willing to shave his head…not that he much cared for acceptance, but being marginalized his entire life hadn't been a picnic, and adding fuel to the fire hardly seemed the way to win friends and influence people. Though that seemed more a Malfoy trait that he had little desire of copying.

_Stop stalling, Snape_, he chided himself. _And cease the alliteration._

He heaved a deep breath, stepped into the fireplace, and pinched a bit of floo powder out of its urn. Why the bloody hell should he be nervous? He knew these people, he'd been acquitted, the world finally recognized that he wasn't a bloodthirsty, sadistic bat who murdered Muggles and ate their children. Not to say there weren't a few Muggles and wizards alike that he wouldn't mind seeing dead, but that was merely wishful thinking to gladden him when he had a spare moment to dwell on it.

Time to suck it up and head into formerly enemy territory, territory that included the Brat-Who-Lived. Ah, that did it. All traces of anxiety faded in the wake of a surge of nearly unbounded rage…okay, perhaps he needed to get that under control before subjecting himself to the redheaded brood from Hades. Disemboweling their hero in front of them might not be a crowd pleaser.

_Don't kill_, he reminded himself for the thousandth time. It was only one rule, surely he could observe _one rule_.

He tossed the floo powder down as he said, "The Burrow." Moments later he found himself, to his horror, walking out of the Weasley fireplace straight into Molly's outstretched arms.

"Severus, you made it!" she squealed with a glee wholly disproportionate to his presence, squeezing him like a giant teddy bear until he thought his eyes would pop from his head from the pressure or the mortification.

"Unhand me, woman!" he snapped, wriggling free to glare his fiercest at her. Damn the luck, he must be losing his touch; she didn't so much as cower! This was his reward for NOT being a Death Eater?

Arthur approached him warily, not certain of the reception he might get. _Probably embarrassed at his stupidity in believing me a heinous criminal_, Severus thought, which cheered him immensely.

"Severus, I was wrong about you. I apologize." He extended a hand, which Snape looked imperiously down his hooked nose at while debating if he ought to forgive him.

_You spent the last decade and a half reviling me, and now you want to play nice? I should tell you where to get off!_ Oh, what the hell. If he nursed grudges towards everyone who hated him in the past, he'd have no time left for anything else. Snape grasped his hand in a firm grip, his black eyes betraying not a hint of what was going on in his mind. He said simply, "Things aren't always as they seem."

"I'm coming to see that," admitted Arthur. "For years I listened to the kids complaining about you, and when you—Dumbledore—well, it seemed natural to assume—"

"You needn't prattle on about it, Arthur," drawled Severus magnanimously. "I was a spy. I dare say I'd be less than effective and probably dead if everyone knew my true allegiance."

"Yes, true," agreed Arthur with relief, heartened by Snape's response. How kind of Snape to try to make him feel better! "Oh, here come the kids."

_Oh, goody. It begins._ Snape turned, unable to suppress a groan. Not only were Charlie and Bill advancing on him with the enthusiasm inherited from their mother, Ginny and George came in the second wave to congratulate him with uncomfortably friendly handshakes bordering on breaching his personal space. Luckily, none had the audacity to press their advantage, risking an excruciating lesson in staying away from the Dungeon Bat.

At length he managed to swat away the annoying pests and take stock of the situation. All things considered, it had gone well. No fireworks, no barf-inducing candy offered. This wasn't turning out as bad as he'd envisioned.

No! Oh, good Lord in heaven, he had to be hallucinating! Behind the redheaded mob came the idiot boy Ron with the most insufferable know-it-all witch he'd ever had the misfortune to teach, Hermione Granger. At times he wondered if the trio were capable of parting from each other, perhaps for fear one of them might perish from the absence of the common brain. He smirked to himself.

His smirk morphed into something akin to a snarl. To cap off the trio, the Potter wretch came sauntering in and put his arms around Ron and Hermione like he owned the place, which he well may for all Snape knew. The little monster may have bought the Weasleys out with his hordes of ill-gotten money. _Don't kill_.

"Professor, I'm so glad you're alive," gushed Hermione. Being the most intelligent of the bunch here, sadly not a magnificent feat nor a glowing commentary on the rest, she had enough common sense not to try to touch Snape, though she gazed up at him with those puppy dog eyes that mad him want to strangle a puppy.

"No thanks to you, Miss Granger," Severus replied, looking past her to lock eyes with Harry.

"Hey, that's not called for!" protested Ron.

"No, Ron, I deserved that," Hermione murmured. "I didn't even _check_."

Severus didn't bother to respond to the jabbering of the dimmest of the Weasley clan. His hand shot out to grab Harry by the bicep as he said in a smooth growl, "A word, Mr. Potter."

Ignoring Harry's indignant yelp, he forcibly dragged him away from his mates to the nearest door and flung it open, expecting it to lead outside. It was a bedroom. He snarled as he hauled the protesting boy to the next door, which also led to a bedroom. The third opened to a cramped cupboard.

"For Merlin's sake, don't any of these doors go outside?" he exclaimed.

"That way," said Harry, pointing across the room.

Slightly loosening his grip on Harry due to the slack-jawed gawking of the Weasley bunch, he guided Harry to the indicated door which mercifully liberated him from the stares. The moment the door shut behind them, Harry shook his arm free.

"What's your problem, Snape? I did what you wanted, you're cleared."

Scowling, Severus slid a fist into his robes and withdrew his copy of the _Daily Prophet_. "You think you're very clever, don't you, Potter? It wasn't sufficient for you to witness my humiliation at the hands of your _father_; you made sure all of Britain knows about it."

"What are you talking about?"

Slamming the paper into Harry's chest, Severus hissed, "Don't try to tell me you played no part in this!"

Backing up cautiously, rubbing his sore chest, Harry lifted the paper while trying to eye Snape in the event he might attack. He began to read the article while Snape mentally projected poxes of various sorts upon him. By the time he'd finished the third paragraph, he felt a little nauseated and he quite understood Snape's outrage. That blasted Rita Skeeter or one of her equally noxious colleagues and their shameless tactics to promote sensationalism! No wonder Snape was ready to lynch him!

"Professor, I didn't ask for this," he started, lowering the paper.

"Didn't you?" cooed Severus, bending in to snatch it back. "How happy it must make you to learn my life has gone down another notch."

"That's not true—"

"Shut up, Potter!" he bellowed, even as he realized he ought to have placed a silencing charm around them. "I gave you those memories to prove I was sincere, not for you to share them with the world! You could have asked Shacklebolt not to show them all, couldn't you?"

Harry paled. It had never even occurred to him. "I suppose…but the council members had to see what I saw."

"I believe the wizarding world could have survived without hearing about your illustrious father's proclivity for tormenting me," seethed Snape, his eyes shining with hatred either for James or Harry—or both, Harry couldn't tell. "But it's oh so funny to you, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry," said Harry quietly, ducking his head to avoid the malevolence radiating from the other man.

"You should be! People have long memories, and I abhor their pitied stares!" At least when people stared at him before, it was from loathing or fear. _That_ he could endure.

"No. I mean, I _am_ sorry for that, but…" Harry forced himself to look at Snape. "I'm sorry for what he—my father—did to you. I never thought it was funny, it made me sick to my stomach."

Severus' mouth was already open, prepared to castigate the whelp more, when Potter's words sank into his skull. His eyes narrowed. It was a ploy of some sort or a joke, Potter was trying to manipulate him. "Why would you, the _golden boy_, the _savior_ of the wizarding world, give a rat's ass what he did to someone you despise?"

"Because my cousin used to torture me for fun at every opportunity," Harry answered so softly it could scarcely be heard. He felt his eyes well with tears and blinked them back. "It doesn't matter if I like you or not, I know how it feels to be the object of ridicule and attack, and to see my father acting like Dudley…"

He shook his head, unable to continue, and his face dropped again. Even now the thought made his stomach clench. Sirius had told him James changed later, and maybe he had, but for several years he had been an arrogant, swaggering bastard that tormented Snape, and Harry had _defended_ him. A rush of guilt washed over him. Was it any wonder Snape had hated him from the start, presuming him to be a chip off the old block?

For once, Severus was at a loss for words. He could utilize Legilimency to ascertain the full truth, yet he didn't think it warranted. Potter was an open book, he wore his emotions on his sleeve like—like a _Gryffindork_. The concept of hiding his sentiments was as foreign to him as showing public emotions was to a Slytherin. As much as Severus would like to think Potter was acting, the brat wasn't skilled enough to fool him. Harry honestly was sorry for the way James had treated him, and he couldn't fathom whether to be repulsed and angry at the pity or graciously accept the apology.

Not being the gracious sort, Severus cleared his throat and remarked, "What's done is done. I suppose the article wasn't entirely your fault."

While he was in the soul-cleansing mode, Harry decided he may as well clear the air completely. "Professor, all those years at Hogwarts when I thought you were up to no good and I said bad things about you—I'm sorry for that, too."

"You're a Gryffindor, I'd expect nothing less," said Snape, rolling his eyes. Good grief, was this going to turn into Confessions 101? Just because he dressed in black didn't make him a priest, for crying out loud!

"Neville still despises you, I'll bet," Harry went on as if they were having a delightful conversation over tea and Snape would be absolutely overjoyed to hear this tidbit. "You were awfully mean to him, bullyish even, which is strange considering you were bullied in school."

_Does the boy never shut up? Has he not a miniscule, teensy bit of tact?_ Of course he doesn't, he's Harry freaking Potter! If he did have, he certainly didn't hide it in that pin head of his. "Potter, Mr. Longbottom is grossly incompetent and should never have been allowed to set foot in a potions laboratory. I reacted in accordance with that conviction and in trying to save his life as well as those around him. That said, I…" He swallowed and cleared his throat again. My, this was hard to choke out! "I never hated you or Longbottom as much as you believed."

There! Quite draining to put himself in a position of weakness like that, but he felt surprisingly much better. Naturally he could have outright lied and said he didn't hate the brat and the moron _at all_, but not only would it have strained his vocal cords to wrench out such a horrendous lie, it couldn't have been uttered credibly.

"Cool," said Harry. "We should go in, everyone's waiting."

Ah, yes. The charming gaggle of redheads awaited them. If he hadn't already accepted Molly's offer, he'd slip out now. "Lead the way."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"And Professor Snape just admitted outside that he likes me," Harry was blithely telling an awestruck Ginny and a flabbergasted everyone else.

If Severus had been eating at the moment, no doubt he'd have choked to death from dismay. As it was, he happened to be sampling—at Molly's insistence—a sip of rather good homemade wine, which found itself spewed unceremoniously onto the tablecloth.

"Severus, are you alright?" cried Molly.

Flushing from wrath and embarrassment, he cleaned it with a quick _scourgify_. "Fine, my apologies," he muttered, glowering at the clueless git. This was just wonderful—now they'd spread it all over that Snape _liked_ the horrid brat! All he'd said was he hated Potter less than previously thought, how anyone could misconstrue that was beyond him!

Harry scooped another helping of mashed potatoes onto his plate and handed the bowl to Hermione, who chanced a glance down at Severus. He was clenching the edge of the table so tightly she feared it might crack, his eyes shooting stunningly hostile flames in Harry's direction. Not the reaction one might expect for 'liking' Harry.

"Uh, Harry, why don't we talk about something else? I think the professor feels a bit self-conscious from all the attention," Hermione suggested.

"He deserves attention, 'Mione," interrupted Ron, talking through a mouthful of half-chewed food. Severus averted his eyes lest he gag at the pauper's ill manners and further embarrass himself by vomiting on the table. "He's a hero, the _Prophet_ said so."

_We must believe everything we read_, Snape thought snidely. And this coming from a semi-literate dunderhead who'd never cracked a book in his life without threat of dire punishment!

When the conversation blessedly turned to the marginally less abhorrent topic of Quidditch, Severus sat back gulping his wine. Ordinarily he shied away from any form of liquor, but in this case he'd make an exception. With any luck he'd get drunk and pass out before their mindless chatter drove him to the point of suicide.


	12. Situation Modification

Death Eater No More—Chapter Twelve (Situation Modification)

(**A/N**: For those few who'd like to see more Harry/Severus, please keep in mind that this story consists of several plot lines running at once, and that while Severus is a main character, Harry is secondary. It is posted under Harry/Severus, as well as Lucius/Narcissa, all of whom are important. Thank you to all my reviewers. If you don't sign in or are not members, I still value your reviews, and take them to heart.)

**August 1998**

For high summer, one might think Azkaban would be warmer, at least tolerable; one would be wrong. Situated as it was in the midst of a sea whose waves viciously lapped at the foundation with frigid gusts of wind, it was sheer misery regardless of the season. Not to say there was no difference; the other seasons were merely different degrees of harsh desolation.

Like every other prisoner who'd resided for any length of time here, Rodolphus spent most of his days hunkered on the straw pallet that served as both bed and chair. The striped prison uniform he was forced to wear protected him well enough now, but in a month or two he could look forward to an extremely abysmal existence, one he'd wearied of the moment he set foot in this hellhole yet again.

Behind him on the wall he'd scratched tally marks to keep track of the days, though he wasn't sure why. To maintain a sense of time, to keep his sanity perhaps. More than once he'd wondered why he bothered when he was probably better off going stark raving mad.

Footsteps tripping along the corridor, halting periodically, made him lift his head curiously. Meals appeared magically, and the only time aurors appeared were to clean, to take a prisoner away for trial, or to abuse and torment them. Since his pallet had been changed two days ago and he'd been _scourgified_ yesterday, that wasn't it. None of the bastards dared molest him—or perhaps he wasn't their type, he grimaced—so that wasn't it. Everyone on this wing had been sentenced already, he knew this from conversation they shouted to each other when guards were absent.

Still, he knew those footfalls, he'd heard them often enough, and he didn't aim to let Weasley see him act interested. Thus, he steadfastly remained seated, hugging his legs for warmth, keeping his eyes on the floor ahead of him.

To his surprise, Percy stopped outside his cell, glanced up and down the hall, then unlocked the door with his wand. "Come along, Lestrange."

"Sod off," replied Rodolphus.

A stinging hex slapped Rodolphus in the arm, knocking him over. "I _said_, come on."

Lestrange got up on his knees, utterly shocked that _Weasley_ had the gall to zap him like that. He expected that—and worse—from the other auror guards, but not this goody two-shoes. "What the f—k is your problem? If you're not letting me go, and I know you're not, get the f—k away from me!"

"Maybe I am here to let you go," said Percy cryptically. "Get your arse up and out here now."

It was a trick or a trap, it had to be. He'd been sentenced to life, no magistrate or council would commute it. Maybe Weasley was learning from the other guards, practicing the more innocuous spells before he moved on to the Cruciatus. Or maybe he hoped Rodolphus would attempt to 'escape' so he could kill him!

"Make me."

Percy moved up close to the bars to hiss urgently, "Damn it, Dolph, we don't have time for this! Get up!"

Of its own accord, Rodolphus' head snapped over at Weasley, his stricken countenance beyond appalled. No one had ever called him _Dolph_…no one except his little brother. With his heart thumping erratically, he staggered to his feet. His mind whirled with terrible, frightening images and thoughts of the worst kind. Had they captured Rabastan, tortured him…had he cried out for Dolph as he used to do when they were boys and their father would beat him so badly? The very notion brought tears to his eyes. And now this lowlife blood traitor bastard dared to use that name so blithely, knowing it would torment him?

He lunged across the cell, threw open the unlocked door, and snatched at Percy, who'd scuttled backward in alarm pointing his wand at the prisoner. Undeterred, Rodolphus surged ahead seething with fury, only to be blasted with an _immobulus_. Stopped cold, unable to move even an eyelid, he watched as the detested Weasley stepped in and bent close, and Rodolphus' stomach twisted to think this pervert was going to _kiss_ him and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

Then, to his immense relief, Percy began to whisper in a hurried rush, his blue eyes almost pleadingly staring into Rodolphus' own. "Dolph, it's _me_! I'm gonna let you go and give you this wand, then we're getting the hell out of here. We don't have much time, the Polyjuice potion will wear off in fifteen minutes or so."

It's _me_? Potion? Like a stack of bricks to the head it hit Rodolphus, and if he'd been able he would have guffawed. His brother was not only alive and well, he was here to rescue him! He should have known Rabastan wouldn't leave him here to rot! Rabastan cautiously backed off and removed the charm.

Bursting out in laughter, Rodolphus eyed his brother up and down. "Nice one, Rab! You always were pretty smart."

The younger man handed him Percy's wand and drew his own from his pocket. This wasn't how they'd planned it, he was supposed to take Rodolphus away at wand point for the benefit of the other prisoners as if it were a normal activity. Unfortunately, they'd no doubt heard the unanticipated joyful exclamation of laughter. Oh well, such is life. No time to stand around crying over it.

"Let's go, Dolph. The boat is waiting."

Not one to dawdle when freedom beckoned, Rodolphus took off at a trot with Rabastan in the form of Percy right behind him, giving the appearance of chase…all except the wand held aloft in Rodolphus' fist. The other prisoners, excited by the commotion, lined the corridor behind their bars shouting encouragement and entreaties.

"Get me out!"

"Let us out, Lestrange!"

Rodolphus halted so suddenly Rabastan crashed into him, sending them both reeling. When the elder man turned to look at the cells, his brother shook his head vehemently.

"No, the boat's not big enough! Let's go!"

A familiar deep voice rang out two cells up from a tall, muscled man with a dark mustache and full beard who called, "Rodolphus, take me with you! We're friends!"

Both brothers glanced over at Macnair's face plastered against the bars, then the elder stalked over and burst open the lock. "Rab, let them all go."

"I told you, we have no way to get them out of here," Rabastan insisted. "The boat carries four, that's all!"

Macnair wasted no time in abandoning his cell to join his fellow Death Eaters and to voice his opinion. "There's just me, Roddy, and Dolohov on this corridor. We can take the boat, the rest will be wreaking havoc here, keeping the aurors busy and giving us time to escape. They can find their own way off this place."

On reflection, it actually wasn't a horrible idea. With the guards busy up here fighting the mayhem caused by the rest of the criminals, no one would miss Rodolphus or the other Death Eaters for a while, giving them time to descend upon the docks and deal with the aurors there before they got wind of anything amiss and owled the mainland.

Rabastan nodded, then he and Rodolphus began unlocking cell doors as they walked along. "You're on your own. Good luck," Rabastan intoned to each man as they exited.

Near the last cell Dolohov threw open the door and hurried out to meet the three who were already running for the boat. Some of the criminals had got the idea to get there first, an idea the brothers nipped in the bud with curses and hexes that dropped them where they stood. The Death Eaters didn't hesitate to trample over their bodies on their dash to the dock.

Some distance before reaching the dock, they pulled up short to slip along next to the wall when they caught sight of four fresh-faced aurors sitting casually in a circle gossiping like old hens as the boat bobbed in the water only meters beyond them. Two of them fell under _avada kedavra_ in the same instant. The other two leaped for cover, but there was no proper cover to be had. The Lestranges pressed their advantage, blocking auror hexes and throwing more killing curses for all they were worth, only to see them dodged by the nimble youths.

Fortunately for the brothers, these aurors weren't seasoned veterans, but rather newly out of training, not imbued with the hatred necessary for an effective Unforgivable. Their valiant attempts to use spells and hexes repelled, they resorted to what the Death Eaters were using on them—to their own detriment. Their curses were feeble; Rodolphus turned aside a pitiful _crucio_ and answered immediately with _avada kedavra_. Seeing his last mate go down, the one remaining auror panicked and began wildly throwing spells. The next instant, Rabastan's killing curse caught him on the neck.

With haste the four Death Eaters piled into the boat that 'Percy' had docked there less than an hour ago, and with the aid of magical navigation they were on their way. Due to anti-apparition spells in effect over most of the water surrounding Azkaban itself, they had to hope no one from the prison or on the mainland saw them. Out on the water they were sitting ducks.

Rodolphus settled in to study his brother, his lips quirking upward in a smile, something his face had grown ill-accustomed to. Of all forms to take, he'd been forced to be a Weasley! "Nice mop of red there, Rabbie." He clapped the wizard affectionately on the shoulder and squeezed tightly. If they were alone and the man didn't look like a Weasley, he'd have hugged him.

"Shut up," muttered his Rabastan, blushing as the others laughed. Any minute he'd be changing back to himself, a blessed relief. Associating with blood traitors was disgusting; _being_ one—or looking like one, at any rate—was mortifying. If he had to endure the whole trip with these morons mocking him, he was liable to hex someone.

Because the boat was so small, the waters so choppy, the distance so great, it took a full thirty minutes before shoreline grew close. Soon the auror guards on duty there would see them and be demanding to know who they were, right before the battle started. Rabastan took hold of his brother's arm, noting the chill radiating off him. Why hadn't he cast a warming spell?

"We're apparating to the old castle where we used to meet with the dark lord," he said, his senses on high alert. "As soon as we pass the anti-apparition barriers, go. That goes for all of us."

No one argued. Seconds later they felt the thick air disperse and as one they disapparated, only to reappear with light 'pops' outside the all-too-familiar crumbled stone structure that held so many memories of their Death Eater meetings.

As they stood surveying the ruins, silently reminiscing within themselves, Nott came out of the building levitating a magically trussed up and blindfolded Percy Weasley. When he was mere meters away, he let Percy tumble to the ground, where he landed with a hard thump. Macnair and Dolohov hooted their approval.

"What the hell, Nott, I thought you were gonna kill him!" Rabastan exclaimed in exasperation.

"I didn't know if we'd need him again," Nott replied defensively. In front of this crowd, it seemed prudent not to mention he didn't particularly care for murdering.

Grunting in annoyance, Rabastan waved him away. "I'll do it."

"No."

All attention turned to Rodolphus, who slowly walked over to Percy, his eyes never leaving the inert body. He gazed down dispassionately at the trembling young man. With the toe of his flimsy shoe he poked Percy in the side. "Do you know who I am, maggot?"

Oh, Percy knew that callous, malevolent voice alright, he didn't need to see him for that! "Lestrange," he spit out through clenched teeth.

They'd done it as he'd overheard them murmuring, they'd freed Lestrange and others, by the sound of it. And now the bastard was going to kill him. In spite of his situation, he refused to beg for mercy from a bunch of scum who wouldn't know mercy if it slapped them in the head. He'd die bravely, he'd show them what a Gryffindor was made of!

"That's right. I have your wand. I could torture you with it for the enjoyment of my companions." He rolled it delicately between his fingers, smiling, relishing the way Weasley's pale face turned stark white with anticipation. At the same time, he had to give grudging respect to the little prick; he was no coward.

"Do it, Rodolphus," Dolohov hissed, egging him on. "He kept us in that filthy hole, lording it over us. Tear him to pieces real slow."

Percy flinched and his complexion became positively alabaster, but he spoke not a word.

Rodolphus prodded him again as if he needed to do so to get his attention. "I could, Weasley. I've tortured plenty of people before." He paused, then said, "But I won't."

For a millisecond Percy relaxed, only to tighten with fear once more. Was he going to allow the others to torture him then? Or was he planning to kill him?

"Why not?" demanded Dolohov. "Give me that wand, I'll be happy to show him what Death Eaters can do."

"I'm not giving you my wand!" Rodolphus barked, and Dolohov backed up a step, correctly reading the signs emanating from him. "Weasley could have tortured me—or any of us—anytime he wanted, but he didn't. Nott, take him somewhere he'll be found. _Obliviate_ him to make sure he can't lead anyone to us."

Nott nodded, secretly glad for the verdict. Dolohov looked irritated yet not willing to make waves so soon after being liberated. Besides, without a wand he'd only be asking for trouble. Macnair apparently couldn't care less one way or the other—he'd gone inside the broken down structure in search of food. Taking Percy by the sleeve, Nott apparated away.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

If Severus had wanted to sit around a dank, dirty hovel, he could have stayed home. He peered around the dimly lit Hog's Head until his eyes found his target. Drawing a deep breath, he stalked over to the old witch in her trademark pointed hat sipping on a—was that _bourbon_ in her glass?

"Minerva," he said simply, waiting. The reason for his summons hadn't yet been made clear, though he'd be willing to bet she hadn't asked him here to play checkers. They hadn't exactly had a friendly year, what with the Death Eater invasion and killing Dumbledore, and the final duel in the hallway before he'd fled.

The witch set her tumbler on the table and stood up, reaching out both hands to shake. Severus tentatively extended one hand and she grasped it between hers and pumped it up and down enthusiastically. "Severus, please accept my sincerest apologies. I had no idea you were working for Dumbledore, I judged you so harshly."

Severus snatched his arm back before she shook it clean off. "It's quite all right, Minerva. Everyone was of the same opinion."

"But it wasn't right. You should have told me."

"And endanger both our lives?" he asked quietly. "No offense, but you aren't one to hide your emotions. If the Carrows or anyone else got wind of the truth, Voldemort's entire squad of Death Eaters would have been pounding down our doors."

McGonagall pinched her already thin lips tightly together until they seemed to disappear entirely, then tossed her head. "I'll have you know, Severus Snape, that I am as capable of keeping a secret as the next person."

"And I didn't entrust the next person either, did I?" responded Snape evenly. "If you've called me here to quibble over the past, I'd prefer to be on my way."

He'd barely begun to turn when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, accompanied by a rough, though not ungentle voice. "Here now, boy, sit down and let's talk."

Severus twisted his head to see the twinkling blue eyes of Dumbledore set in another face…Aberforth. Great, this was all he needed—another Dumbledore! "Talk about what?"

"Why, your reinstatement, of course," Minerva answered. She gave a nod to Aberforth, who guided the unresisting Severus into the chair opposite her.

Snape sat, not feeling threatened in any way, yet utterly baffled. If they meant reinstating him as a spy of some sort, they could take a flying leap. "Reinstatement?"

"As Headmaster of Hogwarts," said McGonagall as if he ought to have been able to piece together something so obvious.

For a second his blank façade was shaken. What were they playing at? "I was of the belief that _you_ are the Headmistress," he said cautiously.

"Yes, which I took over from you when your, ah, duties required you to flee…that and our, ah, duel," she stammered, pursing her lips and looking away. She picked up her glass and downed her liquor in one gulp.

A slow smirk spread over Severus' features. Ah-ha! She felt guilty not only for mistrusting him, but for fighting with him, driving him from the castle! Even so, heading back into hostile territory held little appeal for him. "I don't imagine the other teachers share your sentiments, Minerva."

"Oh, but they do!" she assured him, leaning in and placing a bony hand on his forearm. "Now that we know the truth, everyone is behind you."

_For once not to stab me. What a refreshing change_, he thought dryly.

"Can I get you a drink, Snape?" asked Aberforth, who hadn't moved from his position at Severus' shoulder.

"No, thank you," replied Severus. The wine he'd imbibed at the Weasley house had given him quite a headache the following morning, and he hadn't even been drunk. Well, maybe a bit tipsy—okay, drunk enough to tolerate the Boy Wonder and his cohorts without attempting to hex them to Hades and back.

Minerva squeezed his arm, rather like a falcon latching onto its prey. "Won't you come back, Severus? Dumbledore trusted you, and we need a strong Headmaster—"

"They don't come much stronger than you, Minerva," he interrupted.

"—to help us rebuild Hogwarts. Thank you," she blushed, an odd sight on a woman her age. "Nonetheless, I don't _wish_ to be Headmistress. I like teaching and being Head of House."

Not able to claim the same, Severus merely said, "What gives you the impression _I_ liked being Headmaster?"

That stopped her long enough to formulate the less-than-clever comeback stating the obvious, "Well, someone's got to do it!"

"Oh, so give the job to Snape when no one else wants it," remarked Severus snidely, rolling his eyes. The more things change, the more they stay the same. On the one hand it flattered him that his former colleagues trusted him with such a responsibility; on the other hand, it _was_ a huge responsibility that he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to undertake. Yet when all was said and done, he required a paying job, and this definitely qualified—and he wouldn't have to teach. "Alright, I'll do it."

"You will? That's wonderful!" Minerva made as if to get up, changed her mind, and sat back down. She made a slight motion at her glass, which Aberforth sent sailing to the bar, filled up, and floated back to her.

Severus eyed her warily as he absently rubbed the bruise she'd left on his arm, grateful she hadn't lunged at him like Molly Weasley. Those claws and bony ribs of Minerva's could be downright lethal. "Am I to presume we'll need to hire a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?"

"Yes—and Potions. Professor Slughorn has submitted his resignation." Putting aside any pretense of daintiness, she swilled the drink like a sailor on shore leave. "But I think I may help you there. My father's brother's wife—"

"His sister-in-law?" interrupted Snape.

"Yes, but if I'd said that, you might have misinterpreted it to mean my mother's sister, which she most certainly was not."

"Nepotism?" drawled Severus, smiling at her discomfiture. "I wouldn't have thought it of you."

"If you would kindly allow me to finish," snipped Minerva primly.

"Do continue," Snape said, smirking again.

Minerva cleared her throat. "As I was saying, my father's brother's wife Aida had a brother Ambrosius whose son Abraham had a son Aloysius, who fathered Aline and her sister Abigail and her brother Alonzo, though she's the middle child, not the eldest. So as you can plainly see, we are not technically related at all."

Staring at her, his eyes glazed over, his smirk gone, Severus intoned, "I'll take your word for it. What was the point of this genealogy again?"

"Aline is a potions master from Salem. She'd be an ideal candidate for the position."

"Ah," he said, nodding. Sure he was going to regret asking, he added, "Just out of curiosity, why do all their names start with 'A'?"

Cocking her head and ordering another round, McGonagall replied, "Well, how would I know?"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Of course Draco knew his mother was pregnant, and as such he expected her to get the 'baby bump' she was developing; he simply hadn't anticipated the formerly svelte, posh Mrs. Malfoy to start eating like a field hand, devouring everything in sight. At this rate she'd be big as a guest house in no time!

Eyes wide in dismay, he ventured, "Mother, are you sure you want to eat—_ow_!"

An expertly aimed kick from Lucius' direction whacked him hard on the shin, eliciting the howl. He glared accusingly at his father, who smiled benignly and took a sip of coffee.

"What's that, Draco? You're finished with your meal? Off with you then," he said sweetly…a rather uncharacteristically saccharin sweetness that threatened tooth decay, and hell to pay if ignored.

"Mother, he kicked me!" tattled Draco in an obstinate refusal to read the warning signs.

Narcissa paused between bites of jelly-laden biscuit to address her husband. "Lucius, did you?"

"Honey, would I do that?" he asked sincerely, patting her arm.

"Yes," she retorted, rolling her eyes.

She popped an orange slice into her mouth, chewing as she regarded Lucius thoughtfully. He gazed back lovingly at her, smiling in that sexy way that melted her heart. She'd heard Draco's pitiful attempt to question her dietary habits, she'd merely pretended not to notice. He hadn't intended any malice, he was just a tactless boy who worried about his mother; nothing wrong with that. And Lucius was just a man deeply enamored of his wife and unwilling to have her upset by well-meaning prattle. Neither one was wholly wrong.

"Draco, dear, why don't you go so I can talk to your father," she said at last.

Feeling victorious, Draco shoved back his chair and got up. The raised eyebrow 'so there' look he shot at Lucius lasted all of one second, long enough to recognize in those steely grey eyes the simmering wrath ordinarily accompanied by 'We need to have a talk'. And they were never good talks. Biting his lip and wishing he'd kept his mouth shut, he fled the room limping slightly.

Lucius watched him go with a degree of amusement behind his annoyance. He enjoyed being respected and feared, though he'd prefer the former from his son. He understood Draco hadn't meant to be cruel, it was his protectiveness of Narcissa that made his foot act on its own. Later he'd go up and counsel Draco on what _not_ to say to pregnant women, starting with scrutinizing their eating habits. In the long run it might save the lad a barrel of trouble not only from Narcissa, but from whoever Draco married. A sore leg was a small price to pay for such wisdom.

"Lucius, stop kicking my son. He didn't mean any harm."

"Yes, dear," agreed the wizard, having no intention of changing his behavior. If Draco needed a swift reminder, he'd get one—that's what father's were for. End of story. To change the subject, he pulled his watch from his pocket and gave a surprised exclamation. "Look at the time! I don't want to be late for the governors' meeting."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

It would be nigh impossible to declare which of the governors was most astonished to see Lucius Malfoy waltzing in as bold as you please, impeccably dressed as always in imported robes that likely cost more than the entire wardrobes of some of those present. The hostile expressions from some of the Board members were undeniable.

Lorraine Newcastle, chairperson of the Governing Board overseeing Hogwarts, rose and bowed slightly. While she'd never _liked_ Lucius, she hadn't hated him, either, and he'd done a lot of good with revenue he collected and contributed. "Mr. Malfoy, this is a surprise."

Lucius smirked and drawled, "I dare say more like consternation if the faces here are any indication. Don't worry, I don't plan to hex you or your families." Honestly, these people weren't very forgiving, were they? Threaten them one measly time and they'll hold it against you forever! For heaven's sake, that was several years ago. He'd been sacked, sent to Azkaban, and been cleared of all Death Eater charges since then.

As his eyes roamed about the circle locking eyes with various members, his old nemesis Mr. Wenner chirped up, "What do you want, Malfoy?"

_Your head on a platter for starters_, Lucius thought, smiling in spite of himself. "I come here with honorable intent. Hogwarts was badly damaged by Voldemort and his supporters, of which I am entirely blameless, yet I would like to offer the financial resources to restore the school to its former state."

As one, the jaws in the room dropped. Malfoy was wealthy—filthy, stinking rich, even—but to offer that kind of money was generous beyond bountiful, philanthropy at its height. So…un-Malfoy.

"Is this a joke?" asked one of the witches. He didn't remember her from his days on the Board.

"Most assuredly not," responded Lucius. "My research indicates damages to the tune of 70,000 galleons. I am prepared to donate funds up to 100,000 galleons."

Stricken dumb, most of the governors stared at him in awe like a gift sent from above. They'd been discussing right before Malfoy arrived how they could possibly raise funds for saving the school.

Mr. Wenner, however, demanded, "Are you doing this out of self-interest like when you were a governor? Like when you donated all that money for use by purebloods only?"

"And halfbloods," Lucius corrected him, controlling his desire to lash out. He detested Mr. _Whiner_ more than anyone on the Board, but to antagonize the jerk might jeopardize his mission: salvaging the Malfoy name. He could forego the insults this time. "I place no restrictions on the contribution, except that it be used for rebuilding the school. My only motivation is charity."

Wenner gave him a sour, dubious look. The rest clamored with excitement and—dare he think it—goodwill toward Lucius! After all the hardship and animosity he'd endured in the last few years, it felt like a breath of spring air that he was perfectly happy to bask in.


	13. Emotions Run High

Death Eater No More—Chapter Thirteen (Emotions Run High)

"Lucius, listen to this!" Narcissa barged into his study with a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ for all appearances attached to her face. She surged forward and bumped hard into his desk, causing his inkwell to teeter and plop over, right on top of the papers he'd been working on.

A litany of profanities rushed to the tip of his tongue, held back by sheer strength of will as he shoved himself back from the furniture to avoid destroying his robes with the ink as well. "I hope it's interesting enough to warrant ruining three hours of work," he growled. The parchments he'd so carefully written lay sodden under a puddle of emerald ink.

Narcissa looked down and frowned slightly. "I'm sorry, dear. I keep misjudging where I am with this in the way." Her hand rubbed gentle circles over the small protrusion of her stomach, which hardly accounted for the force with which she'd struck the desk.

Nevertheless, Lucius' ire faded immediately. He got up, came round the solid block of furniture, and cradled an arm around her waist while laying his other hand reverently on the evidence of their shared love. Narcissa's hand covered his and she leaned into his shoulder, closing her eyes and inhaling his scent, completely forgetting why she'd come in.

"You didn't hurt yourself, did you?" he murmured into her hair.

"No, we're fine," answered Narcissa, snuggling closer. As if suddenly recalling her excitement, her eyes flew open and she shook the newspaper as she exclaimed, "Yesterday three Death Eaters escaped from Azkaban! And Arthur Weasley's son helped them!"

For a moment the incongruity didn't register. Weasleys were notorious goody-goodies who in their wildest dreams wouldn't consider helping a Death Eater to tie his shoe, let alone to escape from Azkaban, which constituted substantially more than assisting a man in getting dressed. Perhaps Narcissa misunderstood what she'd read, not that he'd propose that theory in this lifetime; she had an annoying habit (especially during pregnancy) of twisting his harmless comments into grandiose, malevolent attacks aimed at disparaging her and hurting her feelings.

Skirting the issue entirely, he said cautiously, "Who escaped?"

"Rodolphus Lestrange, Walden Macnair, and Antonin Dolohov," she said, rattling off the names she knew so well. The last was accompanied by a wrinkling of her nose, for he sparked a distinct sensation of revulsion in her.

The instant Lucius heard Rodolphus' name, he knew. Rabastan was behind this, though how Weasley figured into it intrigued him. "What does it say about Weasley, honey?"

"There were other prisoners set free from their cells by Rodolphus and Percy Weasley. They all fingered him as the one who took the Death Eaters and ran off. The boat came floating up to the mainland empty, and Weasley was arrested by aurors in Diagon Alley. He didn't have his wand, but they speculate that he got rid of it so they couldn't prove he killed the four guards at the dock with it," Narcissa chattered away until she ran short of breath. "He claims not to remember anything."

"Hmm," said Lucius thoughtfully. Very convenient 'not to remember' if he acted of his own free will. He may have been a victim of the Imperius Curse, though the Ministry would have let him go if they believed so. Rabastan hadn't been particularly adept at that curse anyway, and it wasn't an easy one to make stick, as he knew firsthand from his own experience using it. Then an unsettling thought pierced his mind. "You said the boat was empty?"

"Yes, it drifted to shore some distance from where it ought to go. Why?"

"And they didn't find any bodies?"

"It doesn't say so in the article." An expression of curious concern settled over her features.

"If Weasley did murder those guards, that means he's gone mad," Lucius stated solemnly. "Which means he may well have killed the Death Eaters and shoved them into the water. In that choppy sea, the bodies may never be found." The thought saddened him for Rodolphus, at least. Macnair he could tolerate. Dolohov…well….

"Do you really think that might have happened?" whispered Narcissa, horrified.

"I honestly don't know, but if so I'm glad they have him in custody. He's a menace to society."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Varden was pissed. Rabastan and Rodolphus were his nephews, he owed it to them to offer refuge, but these other three Death Eaters were _nobody_ in his mind. To feed and shelter not only wanted criminals, but escaped convicts—aside from the obvious fact that he could spend life in Azkaban himself for such treachery—galled him. To top it off he'd been coerced into buying them all new clothing. Where was it going to end? As such, he'd cornered Rodolphus outside after breakfast to 'chat'.

"How long are these people going to be here?" he grumbled, motioning angrily at the house. "Rabastan and that Nott fellow are alright, but this is getting ridiculous."

"Uncle, I'd think you'd be happy to see me," rejoined Rodolphus. His typical unruffled composure hadn't budged, he looked almost sedate.

Varden stamped a foot with evident impatience. "It's not you, it's them! Why don't you tell them to leave?"

"Why don't you?" countered his nephew. In watching the other man squirm, he noted the fear below the surface and his lips curled upward involuntarily. Sometimes it almost worried him how much he enjoyed tormenting others….not that he was sadistic like Bella. Torture didn't turn him on, he did it only for a purpose, but making people apprehensive gave him joy in a way he suspected wasn't quite normal.

"They might kill me," admitted the older man.

"Dolohov and Macnair don't have wands yet, they can't curse you," Rodolphus said.

"They don't?" That was a surprise, definitely a welcome surprise. Even so, Macnair had a sneaky look about him, and Dolohov exuded pure evil. If he ordered them to go, who's to say they wouldn't be back later for revenge?

"Grow a pair, Uncle," chided Rodolphus. "Tell them they have until tomorrow night to find another place to go. I'll back you up."

That mean enduring the riff-raff all of today and tomorrow! If he complained, Roddy would likely turn against him, and his relationship with Rabbie already felt terribly strained as it was for no reason he could see. He'd prefer not to make both nephews' shit list. Heaving a sigh, he nodded at Rodolphus and spun back around to enter the house.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Had it only been a few months since Severus had walked the Hogwarts grounds? It seemed a lifetime ago. He grimaced in recognition of the fact that it very nearly _had_ been a lifetime, one he'd been lucky to squeak through without perishing on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. As he stood peering across the field at the decrepit building, he made a mental note to have it torn down. Even if it weren't a useless hazard and an eyesore, it held too many dreadful memories for him. Let Minerva moan and bitch all she wanted about the history of the place; she'd asked him to return as Headmaster, she'd have to accept his decisions.

He smiled to himself. This could prove to be quite interesting, the evil Bat of the Dungeons wielding the power without Dumbledore's incessant meddling or the dark lord's orders. For once in his life, he had the authority to truly make a difference, and that's exactly what he intended to do.

He strode on up to the castle, careful to avoid the construction crews rebuilding the outer walls by levitating humongous blocks of stone and setting them in their original spots with mortar to hold them. Later the smaller pieces would be fitted, and new stone would need to be hewn and brought in to fill in the missing chunks. This was the easy part of the restoration, for stones crumbled by dark magic could still be used, if not restored to huge boulders. Anything ruined by dark magic could not be repaired using light magic and had to be replaced, including furniture, statues, armor—a myriad of things he didn't care to dwell on. Thank God for Lucius' generous donation! Even if done for a self-serving reason, and it assuredly was, he'd have to thank Malfoy personally.

"There you are, Severus!" cried Minerva, her voluminous robes billowing as she scurried up to meet him as he came in, making him cringe in anticipation of physical contact. Blessedly she stopped and put her hands on her bony hips. "Did you forget you're supposed to be interviewing for teaching positions?"

"I'm on my way, aren't I?" he answered smoothly. He hadn't _forgotten_ exactly….more like putting off an onerous task.

"There are three people here to interview for the Potions job, and later this afternoon—"

"Minerva, calm yourself. Send them to the laboratory, I'll meet them there." At her quizzical look, he resisted the urge to roll his eyes and beg for mercy to be free of dunderheads. It shouldn't come as a surprise that the whole of Gryffindor House was hopeless when even the old Gryffindors—Head of House included—had a difficult time making tiny leaps, unless to jump to asinine conclusions. Oh yes, they were _very_ good at that!

"I don't follow—"

"I'd prefer to know that the person I hire for _Potions_ is actually capable of making potions. The only way to ascertain that is to have them _make potions_. Don't you agree?"

Minerva pursed her lips and adjusted her hat. Then she sniffed, "Yes, well, when you put it that way. I'll bring them round to your lab."

Taking his time, Severus strolled through the castle where more crews were at work replacing walls, removing damaged items. Through force of habit his feet led him to the dungeons and straight to his old laboratory, where not much had changed in the year Professor Slughorn had taken over as Head of Slytherin and Potions professor. Slughorn had occupied the position when Snape was a student and long before that; it felt odd to know he'd be turning it over to a stranger.

He wandered slowly about the room, taking in the pungent aromas of a hundred different ingredients and thinking back over his years as teacher here. His face turned grim. How he'd hated instructing the little rodents, offering them a precious gift only to see it squashed before his eyes year after year! All those years and not one of the pitiful cretins he'd been compelled to teach had been more than marginally acceptable.

Oh sure, the N.E.W.T.S. of several pupils proclaimed them to be above average or excellent—even outstanding in a few instances—but that just went to show how lax the grading system had become. If he had to rely on one of those 'exemplary' students to brew a life-saving potion, he may as well buy a headstone and pick out a nice resting plot under an apple tree.

Someone cleared her throat and Severus wheeled to find two men and a woman standing in the doorway. He really needed to pay more attention, he'd been so absorbed in his thoughts he didn't even hear them approaching! For someone who'd lived half his life as a spy, this was mortifying! Quickly regaining his bearings, he glowered at the troop.

"Each of you select a table to work at," Severus instructed, dispensing with any silly preliminaries like introductions. He honestly couldn't care less who they were or anything else about them. He'd observe proper protocol when a capable instructor was found. "Ingredients are in the cupboards and the closet, which I've unlocked. Cauldrons and measuring utensils are on the far wall. Your first task is Calming Draught." _Which you may need by the time task two rolls around_, he smirked to himself.

Perched on the edge of his desk, arms crossed causing his trademark 'bat' appearance, Snape observed the trio silently scoping out ingredients and gathering what they'd need. The woman and one of the men seemed to have a handle on what they were doing; the second man looked stumped, merely grabbing the same things he saw the others using, and staring blatantly over at them in order to copy.

Severus leaned back, sneering at the ineptitude. Frankly he was surprised the idiot hadn't asked for a written formula and pre-mixed ingredients! With only casual glances at the two preparing what would probably be adequate potions, he concentrated on the third as a form of entertainment. From what he'd seen, the man had selected not only some of the wrong ingredients, he apparently had no clue what to do with them.

Improperly chopped herbs, adding the nightshade too early, what in bloody hell was a lizard tongue doing on his table, fire too low—oh, now too high, smoke billowing from the cauldron…it would be hilarious if it didn't remind him of Longbottom.

"That will be enough," he said sharply, waving his wand and the mess disappeared. The other two looked up, realized he wasn't speaking to them, and went back to work.

Severus strode over to the wizard, who astonishingly enough had the audacity not to look embarrassed. "Is there some rationale for wasting my time? A first year could have produced that farce of a potion," he hissed.

The man shrugged and grinned in an eerily familiar way that eluded Snape at the moment. "Yeah, I never was too good at potions. I'm really here to apply for Defense Against the Dark Arts, only I was early so I thought what the hell, I'd try this."

That voice! Snape's eyes blazed in a sudden fury and he gripped the man by the arm as he shoved him covertly toward the exit, then muscled him down the hall to his old office, where he threw the wizard inside, shut the door, and put up a silencing charm before bellowing, "Nott, you brainless ass! What do you think you're doing?"

"How'd you know it was me?" Nott looked around for a mirror to see if his disguise had failed.

Severus leaned in close to growl, "Few people I've known have been quite as inept at potions as you. And if you're going to disguise yourself, you need to change your voice, moron! I repeat: what do you think you're doing?"

"Trying to get a job," replied Nott as if applying at Hogwarts to teach children was the most natural thing in the world for a Death Eater on the run. "I'm good at dark magic, you know I am. I can teach that class, it would be easy."

"Are you insane or just stupid? I cannot hire a Death Eater, Nott! Eventually you'd be found out and I'd be implicated as your accomplice, so divest yourself of that fantasy."

"Huh?"

"You're not getting the job!"

Nott slumped down, then moved over to a chair where he fell heavily upon it, tears starting in his eyes. "Two of my kids will be at Hogwarts this year. I haven't seen them in months, and I can't go home because aurors are watching it. I miss my family." He studied the floor and sniffled.

Oh geez, he wasn't going to cry? A hiccupped sob escaped as tears began to roll down his cheeks. _Damn it, damn it, damn it!_ If there was anything Snape hated more than imbeciles, it was _crying_ imbeciles. Still, they'd been roommates in school, friends of sorts for decades, he really ought to try to console him.

"Nott, shut up. Stop being a baby." That didn't come out right. Despite his innate shortcomings where emotional issues were concerned, he recognized the unsuitability of his comment. Immediately after saying it, he thought perhaps it had leaned more toward abrasive than consoling.

Nott apparently agreed. "F—k off!" he barked back. "You don't have a family, you don't know what it's like to be apart from your wife and kids, to miss them, to think you might never see them again."

That stopped Severus cold, making his stomach tense and his heart pound. He'd been so careful all these years not to let the Death Eaters find out he had a daughter, one he was fortunate enough to spend time with and to love. Service to Voldemort had precluded being a full-time father, and at certain points in Voldemort's reign of terror he'd had to stay away from Jacinta for weeks and months at a time as a precaution. He truly did understand how it felt to be separated from a child, he could sympathize with Nott, but what could he do? Hiring him was out of the question.

"Why don't you go see Lucius? He might be able to do something," Snape suggested finally. The weeping was driving him crazy, he'd say just about anything to make it cease. What _something_ Lucius might do, he had not a clue.

"I can't," bawled Nott, wiping his nose on his robes, to Severus' disgust. "You heard him, he ordered me to stay away from his manor."

True, Severus had forgotten about that. Out of desperation he volunteered, "I'll talk to him. He's pretty wily, I'm sure he'll think up a brilliant plan." Before Nott could go psycho-grateful on him, he retreated for the door. "Now go back to Rabastan's or wherever it is you're staying, I've got work to do. Owl me in a few days, and I'll send the owl back with whatever I find out."

Heaving a tremendous sigh of relief outside the door, Snape hurried back to the lab where the applicants were still bent over their cauldrons. He sidled up to the witch and peered down his nose at the potion, whose glossy sheen presented absolute perfection, swirling in alternating shades of blue and green. In fact, he'd never seen one better, it rivaled Slughorn's and his own. It was an easy potion, comparatively speaking, yet he found it difficult to suppress his excitement—maybe there was hope for a competent teacher yet!

"Satisfactory, I suppose," he drawled in a bored tone, deliberately keeping his expression blank. It pleased him when the woman, evidently insulted that her work had merited only 'satisfactory', raised her head to glare daggers at him from a most delightful pair of brown eyes. Ah, he hadn't lost his touch, he could still enrage the best of them. It did his heart good.

He sauntered over to the wizard, glanced down at the potion which looked to be skillfully made as well, and murmured, "That will do."

Just as he was about to magically empty their cauldrons he paused, wand aloft. No point in wasting them. Instead he levitated them to his desk where he could test them to be wholly certain they were flawless before bottling them for the infirmary.

"Your next assignment is to brew a potion to counteract seizures."

"Any certain medicine you have in mind?" asked the man.

"Telling you would defeat the purpose, would it not? Part of the task is to determine for yourself what will work," returned Snape evasively. What good were potion-making skills if one didn't have a firm grasp on how to use them? "You will have one hour before I return to check on your progress."

The woman smoothed her long, damp brown hair back from her face, giving Severus a look that either said _You're a complete jackass_ or _Is this the best you can dish out?_ He honestly couldn't tell which one, and didn't much care—unless she was somehow impugning his own competence.

At last she spoke, startling him with her accent. "Is this the definitive test or will we be at it all night?"

_American. Must be the tart McGonagall mentioned._ "We shall see," he answered, sneering slightly, his mind already piecing together the next task, one sure to run well into the night. With any luck, the witch would muck it up and have to start over and she'd truly be at it all night. His sneer broadened considerably. Here he'd been dreading these interviews, yet this was turning out to be such fun!

Not bothering with any further instruction, he swept past the tables and into the corridor, back toward the Headmaster's office. Minerva was probably set to have a coronary by this time, pacing the hall and wondering where he was when there were other people to interview. The old witch needed a good dose of that Calming Draught…maybe he ought to have brought some along.

To his amazement, she was nowhere in sight as he stealthily climbed the stairs to his office, but she'd been here: there were two applicants seated at the desk with their backs to him. For one second he froze in place, aghast. He recognized that black bird's nest, right beside the wiry brown bush…

Harry and Hermione turned at the same time, smiling pleasantly, and it was all Snape could do not to flee screaming.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Master Malfoy?" Sisidy squeaked as she padded up to stand beside him.

Seated at his desk, once more trying to get some work done, Lucius heaved a disgruntled sigh, making the elf whimper in empathy. He set his quill in its slot and capped the ink before he reached over to stroke her head, and she melted against his leg. He definitely wasn't going to accomplish any work today. "Yes, Sisidy, what is it?"

"A Mister Weasley is comes to sees you. Orange-headed monster he is, Master Malfoy. Should Sisidy destroys him for you?" She lifted her head with a fierce look of devotion that said although she'd prefer not to murder a human, if it protected her beloved master she would happily comply.

Lucius chuckled under his breath and stood up. From the day he was born Sisidy had claimed him as her special master; her love and loyalty had not gone unnoticed or unrewarded, for he felt a deep affection for her as well. _Unlike that little puke Dobby_, he muttered inwardly. "No, I'll go see what he wants."

He'd traveled out of his study and halfway across the main sitting room before he noticed the elf stealing along behind him, her grinch-like face set in a stubborn scowl, her huge ears laid back like a cat about to strike. He'd never seen her quite so ferocious. For some reason Weasley was making her extremely upset and nervous, which bade him take warning.

He _accio_'d his cane that he'd thoughtlessly left in the study, tugged off the serpent head housing his wand, and laid the cane on the sofa as he passed. The wand in his hand would be hard to miss for anyone intent on mischief.

With a wave of his hand he opened the door to Arthur Weasley pacing furiously on the porch. "Arthur, what an unpleasant surprise."

Weasley stopped pacing and spun on him, wild eyed in a way that gave Lucius to understand why Sisidy was so worried. "This is all your doing, isn't it, Malfoy? You had my boy arrested!"

"I?" He'd expected something ludicrous from Weasley, but this was beyond the pale. Lucius let go a laugh that only served to infuriate the other wizard even more. "Really, Arthur, as flattered as I am that you imbue me with the godlike quality of omnipotence, I had nothing to do with your errant offspring. Any felonies he has committed are purely of his own design, and the law sees fit to punish him accordingly."

When Arthur pressed forward, a burst of magic from behind Lucius knocked him stumbling backward. He straightened up, dazed. "Now you sick your elf on me! High and mighty Malfoy! You won't get away with this, I promise you."

"Won't get away with _what_?" demanded Lucius, becoming rather irritated himself. "Aurors on the mainland confirm that your son Percy took a boat to Azkaban but didn't return with it. The prisoners swear your son let them out of their cells and left with three convicts. For all we know he killed those four guards on the dock, and possibly the men he helped escape! And YOU won't let ME get away with this? Despite what hallucinations dance about in your twisted little mind, I am not responsible for what your son does."

"Percy wouldn't behave that way, he's law-abiding and good," huffed Arthur. "Someone set him up."

"So you naturally assumed it must be me because….?"

"He told me you were under his supervision while you awaited trial. You're lashing out at him—and me. You've always hated me."

"My feelings for you are completely irrelevant," said Lucius, tacitly admitting his loathing of the man. "Were I you, I'd be wary of tossing out wild accusations that may come back to bite you."

"Now you're threatening me?" asked Arthur.

Lucius ignored the remark. "I will say this once more for your pea brain to comprehend: I had nothing to do with the prison break or your son. However, I understand another auror inside Azkaban was murdered by the prisoners Percy let free. Who knows how many more there might have been had reinforcements not arrived to kill off and capture the convicts? Strictly considering the law, I can only hope Percy is charged as an accessory to that auror's death as well. What's that you said when I was sent away to Azkaban for over a year? 'Justice must be done'?"

He flashed another look of utter contempt at Weasley before pulling back and shutting the door in his face.


	14. Difficult Choices

Death Eater No More—Chapter Fourteen (Difficult Choices)

Well, they'd seen him. So much for furtively slipping out and asking Minerva to get rid of the nasty brats. Severus attempted to force a smile at Harry and Hermione, who were grinning like village idiots. It came out as more of a disgusted sneer.

"Hello, Professor," they chorused.

Snape grunted something under his breath that sounded remarkably like a four-letter Muggle expletive. He traversed the room, robes swirling majestically, to halt at his desk, arms crossed, facing the pair. Perchance if he looked intimidating they'd take the hint and leave. _Like these thickheaded dolts could take a hint?_ At least they hadn't brought the redheaded clod with them.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Potter. To what do I owe this…" Try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to choke out 'honor'. "This…unexpected visit?"

"We heard you were interviewing for new teachers," said Hermione.

"That is correct. If you two would kindly vacate my office, I will continue to do so," returned Severus smoothly, congratulating himself on so speedily exploiting an opening to rid himself of the pests.

"But, sir," interrupted Harry. "We'd like to apply."

Snape's scowl deepened until he looked like his cheeks would implode. "Apply…for the job?" he asked tentatively, fearing he may have misheard. Potter couldn't apply himself to anything deeper than a car park puddle, surely he wasn't here to beg for a _job_!

That mane of spiky, uncombed hair was bobbing at him as if to assert that yes indeed, Potter fancied Snape flinging all expectations of excellence into the waste bin for _his_ convenience. How typical. And knowing his luck, the rest of the faculty would rally around their savior demanding he be hired. Hell, they'd probably crown him King of Hogwarts!

Severus thought perhaps he ought to sit down, the horror of the situation making him feel a bit faint. He collapsed into his chair, still glaring at Harry. "What exactly is it, Mr. Potter, that you propose to do? Your potion making skills are abysmal, to be kind. As for Defense Against the Dark Arts, in spite of your defeat of Lord Voldemort, I dare say students ought to learn more than _expelliarmus_."

Harry flushed. It wasn't the first time he'd been criticized for his lack of variety in spell casting. "Well, Professor, Hermione and I would like—we haven't finished—that is—"

"We'd like to come back to school for our N.E.W.T.S.," declared Hermione, giving Harry a pitying glance. "And…we'd like to team-teach Muggle Studies."

The corner of Severus' mouth twitched in amusement. "So you'd like to be both student and teacher, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, sir. Before you say no, please consider it. I can study independently from the books for all my classes except Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. I'd be able to teach most of the Muggle Studies classes while Harry attended his classes, and we were both raised as Muggles so you can't find anyone more qualified."

_Damn that Granger and her logical arguments!_ "Perhaps I've already hired a Muggle Studies teacher." Ha!

"Have you?" asked Harry point-blank.

"No," Severus scowled, wanting to reach across the desk and smack the brat. "But I've also not interviewed for it. I can't very well hand you the position without giving others the chance to apply."

"That sounds fair," said Hermione, her own lips quirking up at the thought. When in her life would she have ever expected to hear that Professor Snape was _fair_ from her own mouth? "But we'll still be allowed to return for our N.E.W.T. classes, won't we?"

"I suppose," he grumbled. School was set to begin in a couple of weeks, which didn't give a lot of time to find a suitable teacher. What if—God forbid—no one else applied? _No, no, that can't happen! Breathe. Breathe._ "I'll let you know if the position is available."

"Thank you, Professor. Come on, Harry, Professor Snape has work to do." Hermione got up, whipped a thick folder out of the bag beside her chair, and laid it on his desk. Before he could ask she said, "My application, complete with a seventeen foot parchment detailing my qualifications, what I'd teach to each level, my grading methodology, and so forth. Where's yours, Harry?"

The young man grinned sheepishly and shrugged. "I didn't bring one."

_There's a shocker_, Severus thought. _Wouldn't want to create undo expectations by coming prepared, would we?_ "Good day," he said, more by way of dismissal than hopes for either of them to have a good day.

As they were leaving, Minerva poked her head in, greeted the duo, and made a gesture to Severus. "There's another wizard here to apply for a position," she pronounced in an excited tone. The old witch seemed almost giddy.

Severus waved his hand in the manner of a bored aristocrat. "Send him in." _He can't be any worse than Potter._

An ordinary man of about thirty entered and came over to extend a hand to Snape, who shook it reluctantly. Without waiting for Severus to bid him sit, he snuggled down in one of the recently vacated chairs.

"Hello, Headmaster, my name is Darrigan Halloway. I'd like to apply for Muggle Studies—to teach, that is."

He laughed nervously. Snape merely stared, his black eyes piercing through to the back of the man's head. Life had taught him not to expect much, because that was generally what he got. Life was quite wise.

"Shall I tell you about myself?" asked Halloway.

"I'd prefer you didn't. What qualifications or experience do you possess?"

"I received a very high mark on my N.E.W.T. in that class," bragged Halloway.

Severus waited. Nobody—not even Harry bloody Potter—walked into his office asking for a job with absolutely _no_ experience, so there must be more. His stare appeared to be unnerving Halloway, who squirmed slightly in his chair.

"And I, uh, knew some Muggleborns in school," offered the wizard. "We were friends."

In a bland drawl Severus said, "Tell me, Mr. Halloway, what is the Internet?"

Like a deer caught in the headlights, Halloway stared back before mumbling, "I don't know."

"A computer?"

"Something that computes?" replied the man in a small voice.

"You may leave now." Severus got up and swept past him on the way back to the dungeons, griping under his breath the whole way. If this was to be the caliber of applicants, the students could look forward to a very uninspiring year. For the love of heaven, the idiot actually _was_ worse than Potter! Severus didn't consider himself an expert on modern Muggle appliances, but he knew the basics, and any Muggle Studies teacher he hired should know more than that!

His only consolation was that tomorrow was another day for interviewing, there may be others—others who weren't his former pupils, who weren't know-it-alls and show offs or mediocre dimwits desperately craving attention to the point of risking their lives on a semi-yearly basis. He could always hope.

He stormed into the Potions lab, his joy at testing these two considerably diminished. One might even say his mood had become downright pissy. Moving over to peer into the wizard's cauldron, he gave a disdainful snort. Of course he'd picked the simplest formula, hadn't he? What ever happened to pride in one's work, in doing an exceptional job for the sake of excellence?

"Explain," he ordered.

"_Cwellan_ for epileptic seizures," said the man, picking up on Snape's foul mood and instinctively backing away a touch.

"Standard, unimaginative, and single-purposed, albeit adequate," growled Snape. He billowed over to the woman to glare down into her cauldron.

Not accustomed to waiting for a surly man to give her permission to speak, she volunteered, "It's _cessare convellere_. Useful not only to quell epileptic seizures, but any serious nerve or muscle disturbance."

"I know what it is and what it does," retorted Snape nastily. He poked his wand into the deep purple liquid and inhaled deeply. The smell was right, the color was—again—spot on, though he'd examine it in full light later to be sure. Even that one whiff had been potent enough to relax his distraught, frazzled nerves just a little, though he'd hang himself by the thumbs in the dungeon before admitting it. "Not a complete waste of ingredients," he pronounced.

"Excuse me, _Mr. Snape_, but that potion is flawless," the witch shot back, her flaming eyes not flicking away from his for a second.

"Oh, excuse me," simpered Snape, right before barking, "I believe _I_ am the one who makes that determination. If you have a problem with that, the door is over there."

To his irritation, the woman smiled tightly, crossed her arms over her chest, and said in an obviously forced agreeable tone, "My apologies."

Good grief, if that was the way she _apologized_, he'd hate to see her let loose with a curse! That was a blatant lie. It might be quite interesting to see how talented she was at dueling. All he'd have to do is goad her enough—_Stop it, Snape!_ he ordered himself. Delectable daydreams of hexing the bitch down to size didn't belong in a potions interview.

"Your next task is a fertility potion to overcome physical defects in the woman. You'll have as much time as you need." He smirked at the quiet groans from both participants.

"Mr. Snape—"

Merlin's beard, why did his name sound so blasted grating coming from her mouth?

"—those potions have to brew for days," stated the woman, careful to keep her desire to kill in check. She wondered idly how good he was at blocking curses thrown his way. Though from his demeanor, she imagined he'd had plenty of practice. Why was it she wanted this job again?

"True, but I'm looking for preparation techniques and choice of potion," he answered smugly. He'd riled her; good. Maybe she'd mess up and be compelled to drop out. If not, this chore would still keep her busy for hours, then he could blithely tell her to piss off and go home. He actually chortled, startling himself. His features blanked again instantly. "You may begin."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

A farmhouse situated a good distance from any other homestead, plenty of room to grow vegetables, away from prying eyes. Dolohov surveyed the place from beside an ancient oak and smiled to himself. The perfect hiding place, and it all belonged to him—oh not legally, of course. Pureblood rules of conduct dictated discretion, his wife couldn't be made fool of. He'd put the house in his mistress' name twenty years ago when he bought it, but he'd visited as often as he could when he wasn't in Azkaban. He felt a stir in his loins at the prospect of seeing her again.

He approached the house cautiously in the event new wards had been put up; they had not. He was able to pass through easily, up the stairs of the side porch, and without knocking he let himself in. The kitchen smelled of bacon and fresh bread, and rapid foraging through the pantry led him to the bread wrapped in a towel. Oh, it tasted delicious!

Munching on a large roll, he walked out of the pantry and straight into a blond boy of seventeen coming in from the living room. The boy yelped in alarm and literally jumped back two feet, struggling to pull his wand from his pocket. Dolohov watched him in amusement, even chuckled out loud.

"You'd dare use that on me, boy?" he asked, knowing full well the answer.

The lad lowered his arm as recognition struck, though he seemed very ill at ease. "I—I didn't know you were coming. Sir."

"You should've figured it out when you heard I escaped Azkaban," said Dolohov in a matter-of-fact tone. "Where's your mother?"

"She went grocery shopping." The boy started maneuvering back into the living room, not unnoticed.

"Where do you think you're going, Bayly?" The boy halted and began to fidget from one foot to the other, staring at the floor. "Give me your wand."

Bayly's head jerked up in astonishment, mouth slightly open, eyes wide. His automatic response shot out before he could censor it. "No!"

As if anticipating his answer, Dolohov barked a quick, "_Accio_ wand!" It flew obediently into his palm; with the other hand he slapped the boy hard across the face. "When I tell you to do something, you do it."

"Why should I?" snapped Bayly, his features contorting with suppressed rage.

A backhand landed him on the floor. "Who am I, Bayly?"

"Antonin Dolohov," the lad ground out through gritted teeth as he wiped at the blood streaming from his nose.

A kick between his shoulder blades caused him to grunt in pain. Dolohov peered down at him and said, "Let's try this again. Who am I?"

"An escaped convict."

Dolohov viciously kicked him again, his lazy attitude gone. By Merlin, the whelp would fall in line if he had to beat him half to death! "Don't get smart with me, you little bastard!" He sneered at his unintentional pun—the kid truly _was_ a bastard child. "Who. Am. I?"

"A murdering Death Eater who deserves to rot in hell!" screamed Bayly as he tried to wriggle off so he could get up and bolt away.

"I see your mother has been very lax in your discipline." Dolohov aimed the wand. "_Crucio_."

The sight of a mere boy thrashing and shrieking under his curse had no effect whatsoever on Dolohov, who gazed upon the sight with relative indifference. He'd tortured too many people to recall them all, some of them children much younger than this; what was one more? At last he lifted the wand.

"Why must we do this silly dance, Bayly? I am your father and you will respect and obey me. Have I made myself clear?"

Bayly uncurled a bit from his fetal position, his fists still clenched in agony, his lungs gasping for air. "Knocking up my mum doesn't make you my dad! You've been in prison for most of my life, I don't even have your name, I have mum's—why should I respect you?"

"_Crucio_." Again Dolohov observed his son writhing and screaming, his own eyes angry slits of wrath. He'd never seen the boy so defiant, and he didn't care for it one bit. He held the curse until only hoarse croaks came from the boy's mouth. "Are you through with your tantrum?"

A full minute of wheezing cries passed before the lad could answer, which he did with little conviction, "I could turn you in."

"Assuming I didn't kill you first, I suppose you could," snarled Dolohov, who bent down over him, his hot breath so close to Bayly's ear it seemed to burn the delicate, agonized flesh. "Did you forget you were a Death Eater, too? With any luck, you'll have a cell right next to mine."

Bayly's chin began to quiver with terror and despair. He'd joined Lord Voldemort only because Dolohov had dragged him there and presented him to the dark lord—the _offering_ of his son. Out of fear he'd taken the Dark Mark two months before the battle at Hogwarts, a battle he'd run from the moment nobody was looking. No one knew him as a Death Eater, he'd worn his mask whenever others were present…no one knew except Dolohov.

"I didn't hurt anybody!" he cried, pleading.

"Of course not, you coward! You ran away to save yourself instead of fighting for pureblood superiority and our lord!" bellowed Dolohov.

"Your lord, not mine!"

Dolohov whacked him on the back of the skull, cracking his forehead on the wooden floor. When he'd heard no news of Bayly in Azkaban, he'd rightly assumed the wretch had deserted the cause. There was no point in arguing over the dark lord, he was gone. Now all that remained was vengeance…then maybe later they could search out another leader. He stood up to glower at the boy.

"You'll be attending Hogwarts this year," he said brusquely.

"Why?" Bayly managed to prop himself on hands and knees before sinking back onto his rear. A trickle of blood from a cut on his forehead snaked along the side of his nose to mingle with the blood there. "I've gone to Durmstrang for six years, why can't I graduate there?"

"Because our old friend _Snape_ is Headmaster at Hogwarts. It seems he was turncoat scum after all. You're going to keep an eye on him, find a chance to give him what he deserves."

Bayly's eyes had grown larger and larger as his father spoke. "I—I can't kill anybody."

"Yes, I know," sneered the man. "You're pathetic and weak. However, you can notify me when an opportunity arises and get me into the school—or get Snape out of it. I'd much prefer to kill the traitor myself."

"I don't want to—don't make me do this!"

"_Crucio_." He smiled cruelly as his son sobbed and twisted before him, his voice taking on a condescending croon as he said, "It doesn't matter what you want, does it?" He lifted the curse and Bayly shook his head slowly as tears coursed down his cheeks.

"Tell me what I want to hear, Bayly."

"I'll obey you…Father." His voice cracked and he started to sob anew.

"Good boy. Tomorrow you can go to Ollivander's and get a new wand, tell him you broke the old one. Then you can buy your books and supplies for Hogwarts."

He whirled, wand at ready, at the sound of the door opening. A dirty blond woman of about forty bearing a striking resemblance to Bayly entered carrying two bags of groceries. The shock on her face was evident, as was the joy. "Antonin!"

She dropped the bags and ran into his arms where he clutched her tightly. Unlike his marriage to his wife—a stagnant, arranged affair that had failed to produce even one child—his mistress was hot blooded, made him feel alive…and she'd given him a son, pitiful as he was. Now that he was out of prison, he had time to properly teach the boy, train him up as a pureblood ought to be raised.

"I've missed you, Livonia," he whispered.

"I missed you, too." She looked beyond him to her son, who was struggling to his feet, his face bloody, in obvious pain. "What did you do to Bayly?"

"Just teaching him his place." He turned to stare down the teen. "We won't need to do this again, will we, son?"

"No, sir," murmured Bayly, lowering his eyes and feeling every bit the coward he'd been accused of being.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Lucius apparated outside the Lestrange home and stood there for several seconds debating within himself. The last time he'd come he'd sneaked inside to get Draco and had ended up badly injured in a duel. Perhaps it was better to notify the occupants of his presence.

"Rabastan! Rodolphus!"

Silence, still and chilling. What if that creep Percy Weasley _had_ killed the Death Eaters, including Rodolphus? He'd been hoping that wasn't the case… When he'd begun to think they weren't here, the door flung open and Rodolphus came traipsing down the stairs clomping slowly and smiling broadly. A twinkle in his brown eyes said he was glad to see his brother-in-law.

"Lucius Malfoy, you look fit as a fiddle and dapper as can be," grinned Rodolphus, striding over to him.

"I must say, you look the worse for wear," Lucius returned, his face split in a similar contented grin.

Rodolphus laughed as he threw his arms around the other man, who reciprocated with hearty slaps on the back. Because of their shared history as childhood friends, their marriage relationship, and Rodolphus' easygoing personality, they'd become quite chummy, closer than Lucius felt to Rabastan, though the latter was nearer his own age. How long had it been since they were free to be friends without the business of the Death Eaters hanging over their heads?

Lucius pulled back, still gripping Rodolphus' arms as he surveyed him critically at arm's length. "I swear, Roddy, I was afraid I might never see you again. When Rabastan came to me with the idea of breaking you out, I can't say I believed he'd succeed."

"He's a smart one," Rodolphus answered, involuntarily glancing up to the house. "Been acting bloody strange, though."

"What do you mean?"

"He and Uncle Varden used to be inseparable, I guess because Varden protected Rabbie from my dad when he got too violent." Feeling a flush of shame, he averted his face and stepped away. Regardless of the fact that he was only two years his brother's senior, _he_ should have been the one protecting Rabastan.

"Yes, I remember my father telling me I wouldn't think _he_ was so cruel if I had Claudius Lestrange for a father," Lucius said, trying to lighten the mood and failing miserably. More than once he'd noticed Rabastan returning to Hogwarts after holidays or summers with unexplained bruises and injuries.

"I should've looked out for him," said Rodolphus solemnly. "Instead I got married when he was sixteen and left him there with dad."

"As I recall, Bella refused to move into the Lestrange manor," Lucius replied. "You didn't have much choice."

Rodolphus shrugged heavily. "Water under the bridge. Rabbie never blamed me, I know. Anyway, he's been a real shit to my uncle since I got here, but he won't tell me why, and Uncle Varden will only say they had a falling out after dad died."

"That's like twenty-five years ago!" exclaimed Lucius. "Rabastan sure can hold a grudge."

"Tell me about it," mused Rodolphus with another covert glance at the house. "I could be wrong, but I'm starting to wonder if Varden had something to do with dad's death—that's when the whole thing started."

As tactfully as he could manage, Lucius responded, "No offense intended, but I should think Rabastan would thank him if that were the case."

A hint of a smile lifted the corner of Rodolphus' lips. "So, I hear you're going to be a father again…"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

It was half past midnight when Severus strolled back into the Potions lab after a brief nap. Feeling refreshed and chipper—as much as Snape was capable of 'chipper'—made him all the more gung ho to find fault with the two applicants' work. They'd had hours to formulate something—or make a horrific mess, as the case may be.

He slithered up next to the witch, observing at a glance the ingredients on her table, the height of the flame under her cauldron, the earthy, grass-like scent of her potion. Damn it all, everything was exactly as it should be!

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to add the dittany now?" he asked, using the smooth, authoritative voice that would have sent his students into a panic to fling the dittany into their brews.

The sidelong look she shot him dripped with venom. _No_ potions master could be that stupid, which meant he was deliberately provoking her, trying to rattle her so she'd make a mistake. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to hover somewhere else?' she retorted.

"I'm quite comfortable here," said Snape, prodding a finger at the herbs on her table. "Is this fresh nightshade?"

"Yes. I went into the woods to get it. It's not precisely the full moon, but it was the best I could do." She didn't bother to look at him as she spoke, as she was certain he'd disparage her 'pitiable efforts'. In her mind she chanted _Go away, go away_. If it weren't such a prestigious job, working at Hogwarts under one of the nation's renowned potions masters, she'd have told him in a less than polite fashion what he could do with his snarky comments.

She'd gone into the Forbidden Forest for the nightshade? Severus was almost impressed, until he realized she was foreign to the area, she likely had no clue how dangerous the forest could be. She _had_ known, however, that the herb needed to be picked on the full moon, which forced him to give her grudging points.

With a grimace he stomped across the room to view the wizard's potion. The first thing he noticed, nightshade being on his mind, was the small pile of ground herb that looked and smelled like dried nightshade. "Is this what you're using?"

"Yes, I found it in the cupboard," responded the man, stirring his potion gently.

A litany of obscene curses ran through Severus' mind. _Dried_ nightshade for a fertility potion? Why didn't the wizard simply strip down, paint his body, and dance around a pole while singing to the moon? It would have as much effect!

By default the choice of a new Potions instructor had been made, and he wasn't the slightest bit pleased about it.


	15. Bombshells

Death Eater No More—Chapter Fifteen (Bombshells)

(**A/N**: Please lift up my friend Chelsea in your prayers. She is in the hospital with a pulmonary embolism requiring an emergency bypass. Thank you.)

The start-of-term banquet began unremarkably enough. As the panel of instructors seated at the High Table gazed out over the multitude of pupils in the Great Hall, they all felt a certain anticipation for the new year—fresh faces and fresh starts—all except Snape, who looked both bored and tense in a manner only Severus could pull off. He sat in the gold chair situated directly in the middle of the table, a spot he would forever think of as belonging to Dumbledore, making him feel like an interloper.

To his left were two empty chairs, then the new potions mistress, her long brown hair pulled back into a pony tail. She was chatting with Hermione and Harry, both of whom frequently caught the eye of younger students they knew and waved cheerily.

All at once the double doors swung open, causing chatter to cease, and Minerva McGonagall marched briskly up the center aisle, robes flowing over her thin frame, with a line of thirty-three first years shuffling behind her. A young blond man who looked to be an upperclassman brought up the rear, yet he wore none of the House colors and appeared as nervous and uncertain as the rest of the troop. As per instructions, the children formed a long row in front of the staff table facing the rest of the students.

From its position on a four-legged stool in front of the assembly, the Sorting Hat—battered and filthy, burned and misused—began to sing…or rather, to chant in a rhyming sing-song manner that none had ever heard before.

_It used to be I played a part in Hogwarts policy;_

_In ages past I chose the House for where you ought to be._

_Both Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw would be a dandy place,_

_Or Gryffindor or Slytherin if that should be the case._

_Throughout the years we've seen it plain that sorting shouldn't be;_

_It puts you all with those alike to hate the other three._

_You need to work together now, forget the way it's been;_

_Rebuild the world of wizardry, uphold the world of men._

_Do not lament or pass the blame for where you now shall be,_

_For time and circumstance have changed, and therefore so must we._

The room fell dead silent amid a flurry of puzzled glances. Even most of the teachers evidently hadn't anticipated this, for they gaped at the Sorting Hat as if they couldn't believe their ears. Had the hat just told them it was _not_ going to sort the first years? The potions mistress, unfamiliar with the routine, failed to understand why the world seemed to have come to a standstill. She looked to Hermione who gasped quietly, "This has never happened before!"

Snape, rising from the staff table, came around to stand beside the hat in a bizarre show of solidarity while Minerva shot him a desperate what-do-we-do-now look. Then he began to speak in a low, slow timber that carried across the Hall. "Professors, pupils, let us remain calm. As the Sorting Hat so eloquently pointed out, placing students of similar characteristics together year after year, century after century, serves only to intensify our differences rather than force us to confront them and learn to live with those unlike ourselves. At its extreme, it produced followers of Voldemort who despise anyone not of pureblood origin, who wreaked havoc on our world. I dare say none would argue that this was a benign outcome."

"Nonetheless, Headmaster, we need some method for sorting our pupils into their Houses," objected Minerva.

"I agree, Professor. This year, sorting will be done randomly."

There were gasps and a smattering of both horrified and excited chatter, not the least among those to be sorted. For some it would prove a relief, for others a source of upset. No one appeared more appalled than the teachers who'd been at Hogwarts for decades, particularly the Heads of House.

Severus gave them little time to stew. He strode over to the brood waiting in bewilderment and walked authoritatively along the line tapping each pupil on the head as he counted, "One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four." When he reached the end of the line, he stretched out an arm to point to his left. "All number ones over here."

Sensing that this surly-looking, mean-eyed man who dressed like a bat was not one to be disobeyed, the children scurried to the designated area and huddled together.

Snape repeated the process for the twos, threes, and fours. "Prefects, front and center." A boy and a girl from each House stood up and scurried forward. "Number ones, welcome to Slytherin House."

As the Slytherin prefects led their group to their tables, Snape sent a warning, bloodcurdling glare toward the hushed students of his former House; they instantly burst into wild applause that could easily pass for enthusiastic if one didn't look too closely at their confused expressions.

"Number twos, welcome to Ravenclaw."

Not to be outdone by Slytherin, the Ravenclaw students jumped up to clap and cheer as the band of students, including the young man who towered over the first years, traipsed over to join their ranks.

The threes ended up in Hufflepuff, the fours in Gryffindor. Minerva, who'd hyperventilated her way through the whole process, managed to stumble up to the High Table to collapse in her place, her face ashen. No sorting? It was unheard of! Why, the founders would roll over in their graves!

Though not in any wise keen on making speeches, Severus steeled himself. From the looks of McGonagall, he couldn't rely on her to do more than sputter incoherently if he asked her to fill in for him. Ah, well, he was Headmaster with all the twaddle it entailed. It was only one day, he could get through one day of speeches.

He followed Minerva to the staff table then faced the assembly, cleared his throat to get their attention, and drawled, "Tonight's guests of honor made today possible. Without their extremely bountiful contribution to Hogwarts to rebuild, we may not be gathered here now. Let us show our appreciation for Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy."

Severus led the applause as the Malfoys entered from a door near the end of the High Table. The smartly dressed couple smiled and waved as they took their places between Severus and the potions mistress.

Snape leaned in to ask discreetly, "Would you care to address the gathering?"

Lucius shook his head and gripped his wife's hand. Too much animosity must still exist against them, what with the way the children's families had poisoned their minds. It also didn't help that Snape had just finished mentioning Death Eaters, albeit not by name, a few minutes ago. "No. It's enough to get our name out there in conjunction with a respectable cause in a desperate bid for approval." Both men smirked in unison.

Snape stood upright and lifted his voice again. "As you may have noticed, we have new professors this year. Your Potions instructor is Alina Conn from Salem."

The woman raised a hand and rose halfway from her chair to generous applause, though she shot a scathing look at Snape, which he patently ignored.

"I'm sure you all recognize Hermione Granger and Harry Potter, who will share the post of Muggle Studies," said Severus. He rolled his eyes at the way the children became frenzied with their accolades, hooting like crazed owls. Yes, he'd expected that, the Potter-worship. Merlin could only guess how much work would be accomplished in that classroom as the students busied themselves reverently adoring their hero. If Snape were lucky—and he wasn't—the students would come to see their new teacher for the attention-seeking prat he was. _Right_! He was so caught up in his thoughts he didn't realize Hermione had risen to speak.

"Professor Potter and I are looking forward to a wonderful year with you all—"

"That will do, Miss Granger," hissed Severus across the table. "You can ingratiate yourself with your students on your own time."

Hermione, looking miffed and embarrassed, plopped down in her seat, only to have Miss Conn pipe up across Narcissa and Lucius, "Headmaster, my name is Aline, not Alina."

Snape fixed her with his best death glare, disappointed when it had no effect. "What. Ever."

Aline batted her eyes and replied, "That's alright, Professor _Snake_. I can't expect you to get it right first thing."

Another, more furious glower was wasted, as she'd turned to Hermione again. Lucius' and Narcissa's quiet laughter didn't improve his mood.

"Stay out of the Forbidden Forest!" barked Severus to the students before dropping into his chair and waving a hand for the food to arrive.

Either immune to Snape's fits of pique from years of working together or ignoring his obviously disgruntled attitude, Minerva—seated beside him on his other hand—stated vehemently, "Severus, you haven't introduced the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Who is it?" Her eyes roamed over to Lucius as a knot formed in her stomach. He wouldn't dare!

Severus smiled nastily with a triumphant glint in his eye. "I did forget, didn't I? The new instructor would be…_me_."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

The meal was nearly over when Lucius nudged Severus' elbow. "Didn't you say Aline's name is Conn? From Salem?"

"Yes, why?"

Lucius paled slightly and put down his fork, turning now to the woman Narcissa was discussing her pregnancy with. "Miss Conn? Would you perchance be related to Abigail Conn, the wandmaker in Salem?" _Please say no, please say no._

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. She's my sister," replied Aline. "Have you met her?"

"As a matter of fact, she sold me my wand—and yours, Narcissa," said Lucius, trying not to look like his Adam's apple had lodged itself in his throat in a fiendish attempt to strangle him.

"How's that working out for you?"

"Beautifully," he admitted, unconsciously patting his shirt pocket, having left his cane home. The thought uppermost in his mind was the clairvoyance of the witch, the way it unnerved him. Was her sister similarly gifted? He made a mental note not to touch her just in case.

"I love my wand!" exclaimed Narcissa. "I didn't think of it before, but it seems like having a woman's touch made it…_better_ than the old one."

Aline beamed knowingly. How often she'd heard glowing reports from those who'd purchased her sister's craft! "Abby has a special talent—gift, if you will—that gives her an edge in wandmaking."

"I'd like to meet her one day," Narcissa announced blithely, to the horror of her husband. He'd told her about the witch's ability to read him, did that mean nothing to her!

"Maybe one day you will," answered Aline.

Lucius squeezed Narcissa's wrist gently. "Sweetheart, doesn't that boy, the tall one who came in with the first years, doesn't he look familiar to you?"

Narcissa searched the Ravenclaw tables to where the boy sat solemnly at the end, evidently uncomfortable with all the small children around him. His plate, while nearly empty, didn't appear very dirty, as if he'd not fully partaken of the feast. She studied the lad briefly.

"He looks like your real estate lawyer, what's his name?"

"Romulus Young," intoned Lucius, staring unabashedly. Yes, his wife was right, the boy favored him quite a bit. "I wonder if that's his son."

"It is a possibility," came Snape's voice from his other side. "The young man's name is Bayly Young. A transfer from Durmstrang."

"Interesting," quipped Lucius, tearing his eyes away from Bayly. "I thought he told me once that he only has girls."

Snape's voice lowered to a near whisper. "I meant to speak to you privately. About Nott."

"I saw him," Lucius whispered back, barely moving his lips as if fearing a lip reader might be present. "At the Lestrange home. Everything is set."

Severus merely nodded conspiratorially. _Good_. He'd actually felt bad for Nott, missing his family as he did. He hoped things went well.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Bayly had been shown to the Ravenclaw common room along with the rest of the newbies, and he'd met his three roommates in the dormitory. They seemed like decent enough folk, and if it weren't for _him_—Dolohov—he'd be happy enough to stay here, though he missed his friends. It was a prestigious school, nice people…

There'd been nothing wrong with the sorting, in his opinion, he couldn't understand why everyone went mental over it. It wasn't so different from the way students were sorted into living quarters at Durmstrang, though there existed no real rivalry between them; it wasn't permitted.

However, despite his own sentiments, _he_ had expectations that Bayly had better meet if he didn't care to deal with the consequences. With that in mind, Bayly had remained behind in the common room after the rest retired to their rooms following their Head of House's welcome and review of rules.

"Professor Flitwick?" he said softly, approaching the tiny man cautiously. He may be small, but he was undoubtedly a powerful wizard, and Bayly was reluctant to make waves, earning himself a caning on his first day.

"Yes, Bayly?" squeaked the teacher, turning to face him.

The boy refused to be deceived by the man's genial demeanor. He'd received strappings at Durmstrang for less offense than questioning authority. "Sir, I've no doubt this is a fine House, it's just…my father was in Slytherin. He kind of expects…" He trailed off to chew his lip nervously.

Flitwick's eyebrows rose at the mention of Slytherin. How typical of that House to demand their children follow in their footsteps! "I'm sorry to disappoint your father, son, but you've been sorted. It's final. I could talk to the Headmaster, but…" Flitwick grimaced at the idea of arguing with Snape; no good could come of that. "I don't believe it would be productive."

Unaccustomed to recognizing the signs of a battered child, Flitwick failed to note the haunted expression in the boy's face, the way he stayed precisely out of reach and avoided direct eye contact. Bayly tried once more, "There's nothing you can do?"

"Perhaps I could speak with your parents—"

"No!" Bayly interrupted, nearly apoplectic with fear. He instinctively jumped backward. "I'm sorry, sir, I meant no disrespect." With his heart thumping furiously against his chest, he backed up toward the stairs leading to the bedrooms. "Please forget I asked, I'll be okay here."

"Bayly, I'll be happy to explain the situation," offered Flitwick.

"No, that's alright, sir. I'll owl my mum, it'll be fine," responded the lad, bowing slightly as was the accepted practice for students toward teachers at Durmstrang. "Good night."

He spun round to flee up the staircase and ran all the way to his room, pausing outside the door to catch his breath. _Idiot! Fool! What if he contacts them?_ His stomach rumbled in a prelude to being sick. They'd want to know how the day went and he had only one option—lie. In person, his mother would spot it immediately; thankfully this wasn't in person.

He burst into the room, returning the greetings of the other boys through a foggy haze, and stumbled to his bed where an owl perched on the headboard, the owl Dolohov had insisted he bring so they could send messages back and forth undetected. He knelt down, grateful to be off his trembling legs, and rifled quickly through his trunk to retrieve parchment, quill, and ink. His hand shook as he penned:

_Dear Mum,_

_Everything's fine. You can tell __him__ I got sorted into Slytherin._

_I love you._

_Bayly _

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Aline walked into the Slytherin common room for only the second time in her life, the first time being a few days ago when she moved into the castle and was acquainting herself with her office and 'her' territory. This time, however, the room brimmed with Slytherin students of every year, all of them eager to check out their new Head of House. This was not necessarily a good thing, she supposed, but it must be faced up to.

Steeling herself against the curious yet sullen faces, she strode over to the fireplace and stood with her back to it. The warmth oozing into her skin felt delicious and comforting in the chilly room.

"Hello, children. I'm Aline Conn, but you may call me Professor or ma'am." One of the older girls snickered. "Is there something funny about that?"

"No, ma'am," said the girl, still chuckling. "You just sounded like Professor Snape. It's almost word for word the way he introduced himself every year."

Aline flushed, and not from the heat making her backside a little too toasty.

"We're not all children," interjected a young man from the back of the pack. "I'm seventeen."

"Alright, let me begin again. Hello, _students_." She smirked over at the boy and he grinned triumphantly. "As you know, I'm the new potions mistress and your Head of House. As such, you are my charges, as well as my surrogate family. Prefects, come here please."

A girl and a boy elbowed their way through the mob and presented themselves in front of her. The boy, tall and thickset, had an imposing look as if he could pound most of the people in the room straight into the floor with one fist, yet Aline detected a gleam of humor in the strangely gentle brown eyes. The girl had a sharp face and piercing blue eyes that flicked constantly around the room in a searching manner.

"Names, please," said Aline.

"Magda."

"Samson—but only my parents and the teachers call me that. I like Sammy better."

"Sammy it is," replied Aline, smiling. It pleased her to coax a smile from him as well. "You two are my right arms, my eyes and ears when I can't be here. I expect you to report to me any misbehavior on the part of my Slytherins—not that I anticipate any misbehavior, of course. The punishment would be dire."

One of the firsties, eyes round as saucers, peeped, "Like what?"

The teacher studied the attentive faces, even those pretending not to be interested while cocking an ear, then she bent down to the boy's level and murmured in a low voice that left them all straining to hear, "When I went to school in Salem, they used to burn the soles of our feet with hot irons and flay us with chains." She straightened up amidst ooohs and aaahs of horror, and made a pooh-poohing gesture with her hand. "_Now_ all they do is tie students to a post and beat them with rods. Even so, I do hope it won't be necessary to utilize harsh measures."

"Th-that's not allowed here," stammered one mid-level boy.

"Isn't it?" answered Aline enigmatically, beaming pleasantly so as to send chills up the spines of the rapt pupils. Each one understood how easily a talented witch could torture her students, heal them, and deny anything had ever taken place. "Moving on, Magda and Sammy will be informing our new students of the rules and procedures. If you need me, you know where my office is. If it's urgent—and only in the event of a dire emergency—you can come to my quarters. Are there any questions?"

"Are you married?" asked an innocent first year girl with blond bobbed hair.

"No."

"How old are you?" persisted the girl.

"Thirty-one," responded Aline, rolling her eyes as she sensed the inevitable descent into Personal Twenty Questions. She could answer honestly now or settle for trying to dispel rumors the children made up or picked up later. "I have one brother, one sister, I'm pureblood, I'm not a Death Eater, I've never killed anyone…yet, I don't have any children, I don't have a boyfriend and I'm not interested in dating my students, I got this job because I'm good at it, I'm a fair hand at dueling, and I know my accent sounds funny to you. Any _other_ questions?"

Several pupils, boys and girls alike in the upper grades, squeezed their lips together and averted their faces in an attempt not to let her see their amusement. Most of the lower grades were busy assimilating this information as if it were gospel.

"Alright then. Good night, and I'll see you in the morning." She strolled out in a purposely slow gait to show she felt no intimidation, though outside the door she heaved a huge sigh before proceeding to her quarters.

Sammy nudged Magda and grinned. "I like her. She's kinda weird, but at least she's not all snarky and mean. Nothing against anybody in particular," he hurried to add in case someone decided to squeal to Snape.

Magda pursed her lips as the brow between her eyes furrowed. "You know what? I like her, too. I hope she's not serious about that punishment matter…"

(A/N: **Voting for the Quibbler Awards begins January 10**. This story was nominated for Best General and Best Work-in-Progress. _Lucius and the Shrink_ was nominated for Best One-shot and Best Comedy/Parody. Please visit my profile for the link to Quibblers, and thanks for voting!)


	16. Hodgepodge

Death Eater No More—Chapter Sixteen (Hodgepodge)

The aged owl heaved a final exhausted flap of its wings to propel it the last bit up to Severus' office window. It landed on the sill and thumped heavily against the pane with its body, leaning on the glass for support. If Severus hadn't glanced over at the sound, he might not have received the message at all, for the poor animal looked about to plunge to its death.

He swung the window inward and picked up the bird, which breathed erratically and trembled for no apparent reason other than old age and exhaustion. "Damned Weasleys," snapped Snape, recognizing the owl. A blind cretin could deduce this bird wasn't fit for delivery anymore, why must they torture the creature?

He detached the message from its leg, then laid the owl on his desk. A quick rifling through of the contents in the cupboard to his left revealed a strengthening potion which, while made for humans, wouldn't harm the animal and might help. The owl had other ideas; for as weak as it was, it thrashed violently when he attempted to pour the vile fluid down its throat, but it was no match for Snape. In less than a minute he'd dosed the bird with what he deemed appropriate for its size, then let it up to sputter and hoot its protests.

"How like children you animals are, always fighting what's best for you," he mused aloud as he reached for the parchment to unroll it. Probably another invitation to a hellish night of 'entertainment' at the Weasley abode. He shuddered.

_Dear Severus,_

_I'm sorry to bother you like this, but I don't know where else to turn. Surely you're aware of what's happened to Percy, of the horrible things they've accused him of, and how they're holding him in Azkaban before his trial._

_Arthur requested the Ministry use Veritaserum on Percy, only he went into an allergic fit that nearly killed him. You were his teacher, you know he's not capable of such terrible doings! If only he could __remember__!_

_That's why I'm writing to you. Harry told us you're a skilled Legilimens. You could look into Percy's mind, maybe find the truth. Please, won't you help us, Severus?_

_Molly Weasley_

That was completely unexpected and marginally disturbing. At most he'd anticipated another noxious, mortifying evening of gut-wrenching, mind numbing festivities capable of inducing suicidal thoughts. Of course he knew prim and proper Percy had been accused of aiding his mortal enemies to escape. Hmm. Well, the Earth continued to revolve on its axis, and as far as he could tell—though he had no special insight into the matter, nor was he the overlord of the underworld despite the moronic ruminations of his students—hell hadn't frozen over. Thus it seemed patently unlikely Percy was involved. But stranger things had happened…

Snape re-read the letter before setting it on his desk and flopping into his chair with a frown. Use Legilimency on Percy? If his memory had been severely altered or _obliviated_, it would destroy his mind to try to crash through the barriers, as had happened to Bertha Jorkins when the dark lord shattered her.

"Anything I can help you with, Severus?" asked a kindly voice behind him.

Severus jumped involuntarily, then spun around with a scowl. "Stop doing that! Tomorrow I'm moving your portrait to the opposite wall."

"You didn't answer the question," persisted Albus, eyes twinkling madly.

Rattling the paper at his fingertips, Snape said, "Molly is asking me to use Legilimency on Percy to prove his innocence."

Dumbledore pursed his lips and nodded. "That's all well and good if the Ministry wants to prove he's been _obliviated_, but beyond that your hands are tied."

"Unless he's guilty," Severus murmured, looking at the floor. Funny, he'd never noticed that spot before, it looked like a giant lemon drop. "Unless he's only claiming he can't remember. What if he really did help those Death Eaters escape? Am I supposed to sift through his mind and then tattle on him?" His eyes rose to meet those in the portrait.

For a split second Dumbledore seemed at a loss for words. "You can't seriously believe that!"

"I don't know anymore, Albus." Snape's shoulders slumped. "I wouldn't have thought it of him, but all the prisoners insisted he was the one. The aurors on the shore sent him out in a boat _he signed for_. The only possibility that comes to mind is—"

"Polyjuice potion!" the two exclaimed together.

"Someone posing as Percy entered Azkaban, freed the Death Eaters, murdered the guards, and altered Percy's memory," said Albus serenely. "Perfectly logical."

"And perfectly unprovable," countered Severus. Not in a thousand years would he tell Dumbledore or the Ministry that he knew for a fact that Rabastan Lestrange had been planning to break his brother out of prison, an endeavor Rabastan had very likely succeeded at through the use of Polyjuice potion. The Ministry would take a dim view of Snape consorting with his old Death Eater buddies—and an even dimmer view of not informing them of everything he'd learned. He'd be implicated as an accomplice and sent to Azkaban to rot, and he'd be damned if he was going to let that happen!

"The Ministry must recheck the signature they assume to be Percy's. It may be possible to ascertain if it is legitimate or a forgery," said Albus. "You aren't required to provide evidence of your suspicion, Severus, but the aurors will be required to determine the authenticity of the signature. If it is false, their job will be to arrest the truly guilty party. Also, your duty as a friend to the Weasleys is to exculpate their son by your testimony that his mind has been altered…if that is indeed the case, naturally."

_Friend to the Weasleys? When did I become a friend to the Weasleys? I tolerate the boisterous, obnoxious troupe, I'd hardly call that 'friends'—_

"Severus, did you hear me?"

"Yes, Albus, there is nothing wrong with my hearing," drawled Snape. "I suppose I could contact Shacklebolt with what we suspect happened and offer to perform Legilimency."

"No one could ask any more," replied Dumbledore, sitting back and smiling benignly with those insanely twinkling eyes resting on Snape.

Severus turned his back, rolling his own eyes. _Couldn't ask more __my ass__!_ Dumbledore had consistently asked for more than most would be willing to deliver, and Severus had never complained, he'd played his role of double agent to the hilt. Ah well, this was far less dangerous, and not a terrible imposition. He could do it to humor the old man and get him off his back, or to pacify the Weasley clan, but truth be told he _did_ believe Percy was innocent. _That_ was the deciding factor.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

On this crisp September day, at the sole table on the balcony of the highbrow pureblood establishment _The Silver Sparrow_, Draco was enjoying a pleasant lunch with Pansy—_was_ being the operative word. He chanced a glance through the double glass doors to spy none other than Gregory Goyle entering the restaurant with Blaise Zabini. He really was not in the mood for this.

Blaise caught sight of his friends on the balcony and his oval eyes widened in surprise while he muttered, "Isn't that Pansy with Malfoy?"

Goyle's block-like head turned toward the balcony, and Draco saw his face reddening progressively more as he stomped across the floor. "Whatta you think you're doin', Malfoy?" he roared, gaining the attention of a waiter halfway across the room.

Draco smiled tightly up at him. "Having lunch. I'd think the plates with food on them might have clued you in."

Pansy grabbed for her fiancé's hand. "Gregory, stop acting like a baboon. We're having lunch, that's no crime."

"You're mine!" bellowed Goyle with a plaintive edge in his voice. "I won't let 'im try his sneaky tricks to get you back."

To Draco's disgust, he noted Pansy's flattered expression. She _liked_ the jealousy! Draco shook his head and sneered, "I'm not trying to steal her, Goyle. But then again, you slinked around behind my back to win her; it's only natural you'd expect me to do the same."

Goyle shot him a scathing glare. "I don't want you seein' her!"

"That's _my_ decision!" objected Pansy at the same instant Draco drawled, "That's _her_ decision."

Without warning Goyle yanked his meaty fist away from Pansy, snatched the front of Draco's robes, and pushed him backward so hard the table teetered precariously before settling back onto the floor. The chair tilted back and slammed to the floor with Draco still in it and a rather burly young man astride his chest, alternately choking and punching him in a flurry of movement.

"Stop it right now!" shrieked Pansy, who'd leaped up from her own chair. When Gregory predictably ignored her, she drew her wand to zap him with a stinging hex in the rear.

"Ow!" howled Goyle, raising his head to search out his attacker while holding a gasping, struggling Draco down by the throat. "Hey! You promised not to hex me!"

"Let him up or—or I won't marry you," she threatened.

Goyle leaned on Draco as he hesitated to consider, then he grinned. "Yes, you will. You signed the contract, and besides _you love me._"

He had her there. Sputtering, wheezing sounds coming from the floor prompted a new idea in Pansy's mind. "Alright then, get off him or I'll tell your mother." She cocked her head and crossed her arms, smirking victoriously.

A brief look of uncertainty crossed his features. "You wouldn't."

"Try me." She began to tap her foot.

With a disgruntled growl he got up, drew back his foot to kick Malfoy, whose lips had tinged a nice shade of blue, but seeing the look on Pansy's face he scowled and moved away.

Goyle pressed himself against the young woman as he pulled her into a rib crushing embrace. "I was barely hurtin' 'im."

"Tell Draco you're sorry."

"But I'm…" Goyle's tiny mind tried to process possible outcomes, but all he could see clearly was Pansy ratting him out to his mum and the uproar that would follow. Sulking, he mumbled, "Sorry, Malfoy."

Draco grunted something unintelligible as he staggered up with effort, supporting himself first on the overturned chair, then on the table top. The jerk was jealous, that was only to be expected where a Malfoy was concerned, he could hardly blame Goyle for that. Aside from a bruise on his temple and red marks on his neck, he appeared unharmed. His choice was either to let it slide (hard to do, vengeance being a deep part of his nature) or duel the big oaf, which would result in a feud and having to watch his back forevermore from this day onward. Sure he was embarrassed, but Goyle had been forced to apologize, so in a way he'd actually come out on top.

Draco stared at Blaise standing in the doorway watching the scene with a hint of amusement and croaked sarcastically, "Thanks for the help, mate."

"No problem," smiled Blaise.

"Gregory, this has got to stop," Pansy said, patting his back like a huge lovable pet. "I'm marrying you, if I didn't love you, I wouldn't. But I won't put up with you pounding every man I speak to."

"But they—but you're—"

She kissed him on the lips to silence him, causing him to relax into her. "I want you to go home. I'll come by in a little while."

"Promise?"

"Yes," she whispered, eyeing him seductively.

Goyle pulled her in for another long, deep smooch before releasing her. He fairly snarled at Draco, then wheeled and lumbered out.

Blaise snickered under his breath. He knew from conversations with Goyle that the couple hadn't consummated their relationship, that she insisted on being a virgin for the wedding night, yet she had the big thug as whipped as any man his mother ever dated. "That's a new one, Pansy. I knew Goyle's dad was strict, but he's scared of his mum?"

Smirking, Pansy responded, "You never saw her angry, did you?"

Rubbing his bruised neck and running his fingers through his hair to smooth it, Draco collapsed into the chair he'd righted. Once more sarcastic he sneered, "Don't mind me, I'm fine. And Blaise, your mum's a right banshee when she gets in a mood."

"That's why I don't get her in a mood." He eyed the food hungrily, then slid out another chair and seated himself. "Now that I've not got a lunch partner, mind if I join you? I've some news you'd be interested in."

"Like what?" asked Pansy, hopping into her chair and leaning forward eagerly.

"Harry Potter is teaching Muggle Studies at Hogwarts!"

Pansy made a show of gagging. "That's not even funny, Zabini."

"But it's true," Draco interjected caustically. "My father saw the whole thing when he was guest of honor on the first night. And that mudblood Granger is teaching with him!"

"Ewww!" cried Pansy.

"That's not even the worst of it," purred Blaise, relishing their rapt attention on him. "Muggle Studies is _mandatory_ now, and you can bet it's not like the Carrows taught it!"

Draco and Pansy gaped at him, unable to speak for several seconds. How could Snape make Muggle Studies mandatory? Surely the purebloods would be up in arms over it! Then again, when did Snape ever give a rat's hind end what other people thought?

When no one responded, Blaise continued, "Hey, Malfoy, are you still planning to ask Snape if you can take your N.E.W.T.S. at the end of the year? You know he'd let you, you did finish almost all your studies."

"I don't know," muttered Draco. He hadn't spoken to his godfather since the running-away-to-meet-with-Death-Eaters episode, which hadn't exactly turned out to be a picnic. And to be honest, he was still carrying a grudge over Snape's wartime activities, regardless of the reasons for his treachery. This new revelation merely added fuel to the fire. "I'm going home, I can't be seen in public like this. Put the check on my bill."

He stood up abruptly and disapparated.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Lucius' task would be much easier if the Ministry lifted the blasted anti-apparition wards on Diagon Alley. But no, with Death Eaters still on the loose they insisted on taking every measure to insure Lucius' life was made more difficult. Oh, all right, maybe it wasn't personal, but that didn't much matter when Malfoy had to skulk around the entrance to Diagon Alley like a Muggle thief stalking his prey.

Dressed in a deep purple traveling cloak over his light gray, high-necked robes trimmed in gold on collar and cuffs, he'd hardly pass for a common thief, yet he couldn't help feeling somehow sullied inside and out by the constant stream of Muggles parading by, giving him—_him_, Lucius Malfoy—disdainful looks as if their shabby Muggle rags were something to aspire to.

And where was that infernal woman? It wasn't as if he hadn't better things to do than troll up and down London's seedy streets waiting for her! Impatiently he reached into his waist pocket, produced a gold watch on a chain, and scowled. She was late—five and a half minutes late! Whatever happened to the concept of punctuality? So what if she was unaware that he was lying in wait…er, waiting for her!

He stomped closer to the exit to hover, for wizards and witches often disapparated within a few steps of leaving Diagon Alley. He glanced furtively about for the hundredth time. It was imperative that he not be seen with her or connected to her, lest aurors start banging down his door again. Being free was nice—beautiful even—and he didn't intend to jeopardize it for her or anyone else.

And there she was, dark hair pulled up in a twist, lithe body outlines visible through her altogether too short dress. Meaning to pull her aside to quickly explain the situation, but in a hurry not to be seen, Lucius reached out and grabbed her wrist so forcefully it sent her careening off balance into him with a startled cry.

"Shh!" he hissed. "I've come to—"

As if time had slowed down, he noted her eyes widen with fright and her mouth open in preparation for what would no doubt be a horrific scream. With no time even to whip out his wand to shut her up, he disapparated with her. He didn't catch sight of Narcissa, who'd followed the other woman out, or the expression of devastated shock on her face at witnessing her husband leaving with another woman enveloped in his arms.

Lucius arrived in the front yard of the Lestrange property still clutching Fidelia Nott, something he immediately regretted the moment they apparated, for she raked at his face with long manicured nails that drew slashes of blood. He narrowly avoided being blinded by the witch.

"Stop it!" he ordered, shaking her as he pinned her arm to her body with one hand. "I'm taking you—"

She responded with a resounding slap to his face with her free hand. "Let me go, Lucius Malfoy! Even you can't get away with abducting ladies!"

"I am not _kidnapping_ you, woman! I'm doing you a favor," he snapped, his cheek stinging, his other cheek dripping blood onto the new cloak Narcissa had bought him for his birthday.

"Is that what they call _rape_ now?" Fidelia retorted.

Lucius rolled his eyes and cursed under his breath. This was what he got for being nice! "Don't flatter yourself."

She went for her wand, a move he wholly anticipated. Instantly his wand was out, aimed at her chest as he held her close to prevent any more 'mishaps'.

"If you would kindly allow me to explain without attempts on my life or quite insulting attacks on my character, I will do so," clipped the man peevishly. "As your floo and all guests arriving to your home are being monitored, I could hardly walk up to your doorstep and ask you to accompany me, now could I? Your husband told me you could be found every month at this time in Diagon Alley, and he asked me to bring you here."

"Udie's here?" she squealed, forgetting her indignation and flinging herself at him to squeeze his midriff with the strength of a lumberjack until he could scarcely inhale. Honestly, he'd met strong men with a feebler grip! "Where is he, where is he, where is he?"

"Get off me, Fidelia!" he barked, shoving her back with some effort. All he needed was to pass out from lack of oxygen and awake with her perfume or lipstick smeared on him! _"Nott, get out here!"_

From inside the house Nott glanced out a window upon hearing his name, then came the sound of feet pounding a wooden floor as fast as he could run. He burst onto the porch, wand drawn. "Malfoy, lower your wand."

Only then did Lucius notice he still had the woman at wand point, perhaps in a subconscious desire to hold off her manic displays of affection. He gave a sheepish grin as he tucked it back into his shirt pocket. Any attempt at explanation would have fallen on deaf ears, for the couple ran to meet each other; Nott picked her up in a tremendous bear hug and kissed her over and over like a starving man whose sustenance was her love.

Nott paused long enough to press his overwrought, sobbing wife hard to his chest as he murmured, "Thank you, Lucius." Tears had begun to course down his own cheeks.

"You're welcome," replied Malfoy, heartened to behold their touching reunion. He couldn't wait to get home to snog Narcissa. "You two can make plans to meet here or wherever you want from now on, but next time leave me out of it."

"Oh, Lucius, I'm sorry," gasped Fidelia, who'd lifted her head and saw the scratch marks on his face. "I thought you'd gone mad…"

"That _is_ what one normally assumes when a family friend makes an appearance," he replied dryly. She and Nott made the perfect couple: neither one particularly astute, yet both loyal and tenderhearted. "I don't suppose you could heal these, um, embarrassing marks that proclaim to the world I got beat up by a girl."

Fidelia reached into a pocket near her breast, drew her wand, and stepped over to him. A few swipes of the wand not only eliminated the unsightly scratches, but cleaned off the blood from face and clothes. Then, before he had time to save himself by lurching away, Fidelia threw herself into his arms again. He grimaced and patted her back awkwardly. He wasn't used to hugging anyone except Narcissa and he preferred to keep it that way.

"Right then, off with you," he coaxed, delicately trying to pry her fingers from his arm. Instead of taking the hint, she laid her head on his chest, which caused him to look imploringly at her husband.

Nott took her shoulders and turned her around, where she happily settled in his cuddling, loving embrace.

"Nott, are Rodolphus and Rabastan here?"

"Yeah, they're around somewhere," murmured Nott, eyes closed, swaying gently with his wife.

If Lucius hoped for a more detailed description of precisely where he might find them, he was on his own. He strode up to the front door and knocked. Nothing. Rather than enter the place, which seemed hauntingly silent, he descended the stairs and veered around the side of the house to trudge across unkempt lawn into the back where the land dipped down in an almost cliff-like manner and extended into a bleak patch of half-denuded woods. Drifting up from that area, though he had yet to catch sight of anyone, he heard muffled voices.

Making a beeline toward them—or as close to a beeline as stepping over rotted logs and around patchy thorns could be—he carefully made his way down the embankment grumbling to himself. Ahead some distance he saw two figures through the trees. Reasoning that apparating in front of nervous, escaped criminals might buy him an _avada kedavra_ to the head before they realized who he was, he decided to take the prudent approach which suggested calling out to them in warning. He'd just opened his mouth to do so when the voices became clearer, stronger…combative.

"Things were never the same for him as for you!" It was Varden Lestrange, and he sounded angry. "You're the heir, the favored child, you don't know what it's like to be the second son, but I do! Rabastan does!"

"You're making way more out of this than there was," came Rodolphus' calm timber.

"Am I? What was that pet name your father had for your brother?" Varden looked up toward the sky, pursing his lips and pretending to think. Then he shot a furious glare at his nephew and spat out, "Oh, I remember—_dog_!"

"So my father wasn't perfect, I never said he was," Rodolphus retorted, flushing. It was true…how could he have forgotten something like that? Maybe his father did have a cruel streak, but he wasn't the ogre Uncle Varden painted him to be, either. Claudius Lestrange had treated his elder son like a prince…yet Rodolphus struggled to recall a single instance when Rabbie had been treated the same.

Varden didn't let up. "You still defend him? You didn't know you had an older sister, did you?"

Rodolphus' head shot up, his eyes a mixture of outrage and bewilderment. "I do not!"

"No, you don't—but you _did_!" snarled Varden. "When Claudius had a daughter instead of an heir, he suffocated her and blamed it on crib death."

"That's a lie!" Rodolphus growled through gritted teeth.

"I was there, Roddy. It was the summer before I went off to Hogwarts for my first year, and I couldn't have been more glad to leave his house if it had been Azkaban!"

Varden halted, panting with fury and hatred. He'd been the second son of his parents, the _worthless_ son who was ignored at best, never receiving accolades or affection. Being ten years younger than Claudius, he'd been compelled to live with his brother after their parents died of a mysterious poison when he was a mere boy of eight. Not that he'd complain, his brother's behavior toward him was comparable to his father's—no, definitely better. Claudius usually only hit him for things he actually did wrong.

What galled him was Claudius' attitude toward Rabastan; it was seeing this whole lurid family process repeat itself with his nephews that enraged him, to stand by and watch as the older boy received all his parents' affection and love while the younger wilted under their heavy hand.

"Don't you understand why they let Rabastan live when he was born?" continued Varden sadly, shaking his head in disgust. "They didn't need a girl at all, but they needed an heir. Rabastan was their spare in case _you_ died."

Still riveted to the spot where he'd paused, Lucius watched the scene before him with interest and revulsion. He'd known Rabastan was considered by his family to be 'lesser', anyone could have seen it; to have it so plainly stated made it feel all the more reprehensible. It seemed inconceivable that Rodolphus had been oblivious to the fact all these years. He felt like he ought to leave, and was poised to do so when the next announcement nearly knocked him off his feet.

Varden looked right at his nephew as he said, "If I was Rabastan, I'd have killed Claudius long before he did."

As if punched in the stomach, Rodolphus stepped back in shock, his mouth agape, his eyes twice their normal size. "Are you accusing my brother of killing our father?"

Even from this distance Lucius detected Varden's lips form an 'o'.

"I—I thought you knew. You two are so close…"

Deciding this might be an ideal time to escape before detection, now that Roddy probably wouldn't be in the mood for company, Lucius disapparated silently. He'd stop in another time when chances of survival were higher.

(A/N: If you haven't voted for the Quibbler Awards, I believe voting runs until Jan. 20. See my profile for link. Also thank you for the prayers, Chelsea is doing much better!)


	17. Liar, Liar

Death Eater No More—Chapter Seventeen (Liar, Liar)

Admittedly this was not the worst day Lucius had ever had, but it hardly sprang to mind in the top ten good days of all time. Going against his deepest moral convictions of staying out of the private married lives of other couples, he'd allowed his kindly, helpful side to take over and botch everything to hell, once more proving that being _nice_ was not all it was cracked up to be. In attempting to reunite the Notts, he'd been clawed, slapped, and slandered in the most malicious way—and these were his _friends_! The icing on the putrid cake had to be learning that nasty little secret Rabastan had harbored all these years: he'd murdered his father.

It wasn't that Lucius blamed him exactly, for Claudius no doubt asked for it, and Rabastan was no innocent—he'd killed several other people that Lucius was aware of; he couldn't quite put his finger on the reason it bothered him. Rodolphus must be having a conniption, for he'd loved the vile, abusive bastard who'd loved and pampered him in return. He wondered idly how Rabastan intended to weasel out of it when his brother confronted him, stripped away the lie he'd been hiding behind. That was one conversation he'd be very interested in spying on.

He closed the front door of the manor and strode at a good clip into the main sitting room on his way to the staircase. In spite of Fidelia Nott's heinous ingratitude, watching the pair snog like teenagers had set him in a mood for some amorous activity of his own. With any luck Narcissa wouldn't make him work too hard for her affections…her hormonally induced pregnancy fits put a serious damper on their lovemaking on a regular basis.

"Lucius!" barked Abraxas' portrait as he walked by.

The younger man halted, somewhat started. He looked off to his right where his father was snuggled up to his mother in her portrait frame. "Yes, Father?"

"What did you do to Narcissa?"

Bewildered, his brow knotted, Lucius replied, "What? Nothing, why?"

"She doesn't get that upset at anyone else, not even Draco," stated Abraxas.

His wife joined in with her mild, pleasant tone, "Besides, son, she tore through the house wreaking havoc and destruction as she ranted on about _you_."

"Mostly incoherent rage, but discernable enough," added Abraxas. "Whatever you did, it was big."

"But I haven't done anything!" Lucius protested. A quick scan of the room revealed nothing out of order. "I don't see anything amiss."

"It took Sisidy hours to repair everything she broke," offered Thalia. "Think, son. Did you forget an important date or say something to offend her?"

Lucius paused to reflect, coming up blank. As far as he remembered, they'd parted earlier in the day on good terms. In fact, Narcissa had been more than passingly demonstrative this morning, a memory that triggered a grin along with a throbbing in his loins, making him grateful for the traveling cloak to shield his arousal. There exist few things as mortifying as one's mother witnessing one's erection.

"No, Mother, I've no idea what set her off. I'd better go find out."

With grave trepidation he made his way up the stairs to their bedroom to find Narcissa perched primly on the edge of the bed, stiff-backed, staring into space. Upon his entry, her head swiveled very slowly and her furious glower directed itself his way, settling on him like two orbs of flaming blue gas.

Lucius approached her hesitantly, smiling fixedly with the expertise born of years of practice at expressing emotions he didn't feel. "How are you sweetheart?" He bent down to kiss her, only to be shoved away.

"Don't you dare touch me!"

"O-kay," he muttered, stepping out of her reach. At least she was speaking to him.

"Did you have fun?" she clipped. Merlin, those eyes could scald a bonfire!

"Fun at what?" he asked, knowing he'd regret the response. Had he missed a scheduled party or something?

"I think we both know the answer to that!"

Right again, he definitely regretted asking. Somehow, being right didn't feel all that good when his wife's face was puckered into a scowling pout that made her only very attractive to him instead of the usual overpoweringly irresistible. "Honey, obviously you're angry. If you told me why, this conversation would be much more productive."

In answer, Narcissa stood up a bit too calmly and glided over to her husband where she eyed him up and down in a once-over that made him feel like a cheap piece of meat—right before she snarled and laid into him with her fists, pummeling his chest viciously, barely missing his face. He jumped back instinctively and grabbed her wrists to prevent her doing any damage to herself or to him.

"Narcissa, what is wrong with you?" he bellowed.

The witch continued to struggle and kick as she shrieked, "You know what you did! Don't stand there pretending you didn't run off to rut like an animal with Fidelia Nott!"

Her boot clad foot slammed into his shin with the force of a baseball, causing him to howl, though he dared not let her loose and retreat lest she mount a more toxic attack. "I think you're…" He scarcely stopped himself from saying 'delusional'. That was one hole he'd never be able to crawl out of. "…mistaken."

"_I saw you_!" Narcissa screamed. She kicked at him again, wildly yanking on her arms, which he held fast. "You disapparated with her, Lucius, don't deny it! Her lipstick is on your robes!" She broke off in a sob.

Holding his wife at arm's length, he glanced down at his light gray robes; there indeed was a smear of the woman's lipstick, hidden by his cloak until now. _Damn it all to hell, why do I ever do anything nice for people!_ Most of his internal organs had decided by now that changing places seemed like a good idea. His stomach sank as his heart leaped into his throat, and his intestines even rumbled against him.

"Narcissa, I would never cheat on you even if I could," he said softly, pulling her unresisting form closer. Typically by the time she broke down sobbing, the fight had gone out of her. She _probably_ wouldn't injure him now. His grey eyes drifted over her figure and he sucked in a stunned breath. She was so beautiful, so perfect to him it honestly took his breath away. "I love you with everything in me…I love our baby you're carrying. You're my princess, Narcissa …you're my life."

"Then what were you doing?" she managed to squeak out. She still refused to give in to his loving gestures. Streaks of tears marred her alabaster cheeks.

"I didn't want you or anybody to find out for our protection, but I was taking Fidelia to her husband," said Lucius, automatically lowering his voice and glimpsing around him. "He missed her terribly as I missed you when we were apart."

"You know where Nott is?" exclaimed Narcissa. "He's a wanted man!"

"Which is precisely why it's in our best interest for other people not to discover that I'm knowledgeable of his whereabouts." He sidled up next to her and put an arm out. When she didn't punch or slap at him, he assumed it safe to embrace her, which he did with gusto. Oh, how he loved her! To hold her in his arms was a blissful feeling unequalled in his experience.

Narcissa's grasp closed around his waist as she murmured, "I thought you were sick of me. I'm getting fatter by the day, my moods drive even _me_ mad…Fidelia is so curvy and dark and pretty—"

"Honey, she's just some woman," he interrupted between kisses and nibbles on her neck. "You're my wife, my everything."

"But—but how did her lipstick get on you?"

"She insisted on attacking me to thank me for taking her to Nott," he replied with a droll smile. "And how could you think I'd cheat on you? Aside from the fact that no woman can compare to you, I'm _alive_—doesn't that prove I didn't breach our Unbreakable Vow of fidelity?"

"Oh, yeah," Narciussa mumbled happily, blushing. Jealousy had a way of blinding people to obvious facts, didn't it? Taking his hand, she led him to the bed, sat down, and pulled him down beside her. She pushed aside a lock of his hair, brought her lips to his ear, and whispered something.

Lucius' face lit up in a beaming smile. "My pleasure, my lady," he purred as he playfully wrestled her onto her back. Fighting wasn't completely bad—there was always the making up!

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Bayly snapped shut the book he'd been studying when he spied the two youths approaching and recognized their clothing as Ravenclaw. Having been unable to correctly solve the riddle, and hence not afforded passage, he'd been sitting outside the entrance to the tower for ages. Begging and threatening the guardian had proven not only useless, but possibly detrimental in that the eagle knocker had snidely informed him he might never be allowed in again.

"Hey, new kid, what're you doing out here?" asked the first boy, one Bayly recognized as a seventh year from a class they shared.

"I'm not a kid, I'm your age," retorted Bayly, rising to his feet. "The door won't let me in."

"You have to answer the riddle," said the second Ravenclaw, sneering. He looked to be younger, probably sixth year. "Or aren't you smart enough?" He looked over at his companion and shook his head while saying loudly in a disparaging tone, "This is what we get when the Sorting Hat doesn't do its job."

Bayly flushed to the roots of his blond hair. It was one thing to berate himself for lack of intelligence, it was wholly another for this little prick to insult him! In a purely reflexive response, he did what he would have done at Durmstrang: he lunged forward, grasped the lad by the throat with both hands, and kneed him in the stomach.

The boy doubled over retching and Bayly let him go. He tipped against the wall moaning. That would have been the end of it had there not been the other Ravenclaw, who pulled out his wand, which Bayly had fully anticipated. _Never attack someone who has reinforcements unless you're prepared to face them_ had been a time-honored maxim at Durmstrang. From under his sleeve in a special wrist carrier his father had bought him this summer, his wand shot down between his fingers with a mere flick of his hand.

A yellow hex sped past his ear in a narrow miss; Bayly jumped to the side and sent a jinx back, only to have it blocked. It ricocheted into a wall, where it chipped off a small chunk of stone. Evenly matched, the boys silently traded spells unsuccessfully for a few minutes, the flashes of colored light and noise of the castle being damaged winning the attention of passing students who began to assemble along the stairway out of the line of fire to cheer on the combatants. When the younger Ravenclaw heaved himself up to join the fray, Bayly realized he was in trouble.

With no time to consider the consequences, he began to throw out curses as fast as he could think them—for any student at Durmstrang above fifth year caught speaking spells was subject to severe disciplinary measures. He blocked a red hex while dodging a blue one and immediately fired back three in a row, all identical…three purple streaks of flame, each accompanied by a sudden slashing movement. His opponents blocked two; the third struck the sixth year in the ribcage, flattening him against the wall. Eyes wide with surprise and pain, without even a groan he sank to the floor.

The next instant Bayly felt himself stiffening and falling onto his back. He'd been _petrified_, yet he could swear he hadn't seen the Ravenclaw cast a spell at him! Then he heard the Ravenclaw shouting and feet rapidly advancing and students beginning to break into excited yet subdued chatter.

"Professor Potter, he started it," the Ravenclaw declared, pointing at the incapacitated youth. "I think he hurt Loughlin pretty badly. Can you help him?"

"Let me have a look," said Harry. He knew it would do no good, he had no notion of how to cure most anything. But as a teacher, he had to uphold the appearance of competence.

Bayly saw only a flash of movement from the corner of his eye indicating that the professor had gone over to see the injured boy. _Good luck_, he thought sardonically. _There's no easy way to fix that curse._ Dolohov—Father—had said that curse would cripple an adversary and take a long time to heal. That made it ideal in a duel because the rival couldn't continue to fight. He'd also said it could be lethal if spoken aloud; in spite of the Ravenclaw's big mouth and the way the situation had gone, he was glad he hadn't spoken it aloud.

Harry knelt down beside the boy, who'd begun to whimper quietly. There was no sign of blood anywhere, nor any apparent bruising or marks, yet his inability to get up implied that severe harm had been inflicted, likely from dark magic. He pondered for a moment, then released Bayly from his binding. "What's the countercurse?" he demanded.

Bayly sat up and looked over at the fallen Ravenclaw. "I don't know," he said honestly.

"If you knew the curse—" Harry started, then halted. Hadn't _he_ used _sectumsempra_ on Malfoy without knowing what it did or how to reverse it? And he'd only been up against one opponent, this kid had been dueling two of them. Turning to the other Ravenclaw he ordered, "Go get Madame Pomfrey. And the Headmaster. The rest of you clear out."

The young man took off like a shot as the other students wandered off grumbling, leaving Harry to stare curiously at Bayly, who ducked his head. This was the new boy. School had been in session only a week and already he was in hot water. Harry was all too familiar with that feeling.

"What was this about, Bayly?" Harry asked, trying to be fair. After all, it _was_ two on one, and the kid had come from another school where rules might be different.

"He called me stupid," said Bayly, tight lipped.

"And?" prompted Harry.

"And I hit him," admitted the youth. "Then that other bloke drew his wand and we started dueling. He's the one who cast the first spell." He felt it necessary to add that last part, though he wasn't sure why. He'd been _apprehended_ while fighting and dueling in school, that meant automatic punishment. If only he'd been able to escape before Mr. Potter showed up, he might use plausible deniability. That's how it was at the old school—if you don't get caught, you deny involvement, and your classmates won't rat you out….and if they do, they know what they'll get later. There was no reason to believe things here were that much different.

A loud rustling of fabric coming from the Ravenclaw Tower entrance announced Madame Pomfrey's arrival, followed closely by Severus, whose sour look was made all the more frightening by the wrath in those deep, dark eyes. They'd floo'd into Flitwick's office to get there as quickly as possible, and swept past Bayly to Loughlin, where they bent down over him poking, prodding, and waving their wands, all the while conferring in low voices.

Bayly watched the scene along with Potter, concern showing in both their faces. Not only did Bayly have the guilt of acutely injuring another student, he thought he might be ill at the notion of what lay ahead…the Headmaster looked extremely pissed! When Madame Pomfrey levitated Loughlin to take him to the infirmary, Severus spoke, causing both Harry and Bayly to lurch.

"Mr. Potter, it's fortunate you called for us right away rather than attempt any cure of your own," said Snape, inwardly surmising how they'd be collecting the boy's dead body if Potter had tried to heal him. "I would like to speak with Mr. Young in my office."

"Of course, Professor Snape," answered Harry. "Is there anything else I can do?"

_This is just too damnable bizarre_, bemoaned Severus. Ever since that awful night at the Weasleys, and more so since being hired on as a teacher, Potter—the bane of his existence—had been insufferably chipper and accommodating. A helpful Potter? If it were anyone else, it wouldn't seem so bloody _creepy_. He honestly didn't know how to act when the brat threw him off kilter like this…which was probably the whelp's plan, he thought with a niggling of suspicion. But was Potter actually bright enough to come up with a plan intricate enough to fool Severus?

"Professor?" repeated Harry, who was waiting for an answer. "Is there anything else?"

"No. Go away." Then, with supreme effort he choked out, "Thank you."

Harry smiled and walked off in the direction of the Gryffindor Tower.

Snape snapped his fingers at Bayly, who leaped to his feet and stuffed his wand back into its holder. "Follow me, boy."

Head down as he studied the well worn stones, legs trembling so hard he feared he would fall down and be kicked for either weakness or insolence, Bayly shuffled along at a pace far too slow to keep up with the Headmaster, who had already gotten some distance ahead, his robes billowing menacingly round him as he stalked along. Bayly thought he resembled a vampire more than a bat as some of the students snickered on about. He stepped up his pace to a trot until he was within a few feet of the Headmaster, then matched his gait to the man's.

His mind swirled in visions of very bad things to come. Already this year was going horribly wrong. He shouldn't even be here, he should be with his friends instead of acting as a spy against a powerful wizard known for being an excellent spy himself! He was going to be expelled, he knew it. Then Dolohov would torture or kill him for failing in his assigned task. With some difficulty he clamped down on his jaw to keep his chin from quivering. Up the stairs he went and collapsed into the chair the Headmaster indicated, both relieved to be off his feet and frightened to have arrived.

Coming around to face the boy, Severus crossed his arms and stared impassively with those ominous black eyes. "Let's get right to the point, shall we? What is the spell you used and its countercurse?"

"I don't know, sir, I told Professor Potter that—"

"_You know what curse you used!_" thundered Severus, bending in to grab the armrests of the boy's chair, forcing him to cower backward. "Tell me _now_."

"_Infligo damnum_," Bayly squeaked, jerking back his head until it cracked hard against the chair, his heart thumping so hard he felt sure it would pop out of his chest and smack the professor in the face.

"And the countercurse?" Severus crooned, leaning in so close their noses nearly met.

"I don't know, I swear! He didn't tell me!" Bayly shrieked. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the inevitable blow.

"Who didn't tell you?"

Severus' breath felt hot on the boy's face, which only added to his panic. He couldn't tell the truth; Snape was acquainted with Dolohov, he knew him to be a Death Eater, and if Dolohov went down he'd promised to take Bayly with him. Lying to this intimidating man, on the other hand, seemed like a very risky thing to do, but what alternative did he have?

"Someone at my old school," Bayly croaked, opening his hazel eyes just long enough to make contact with the irate orbs, then averting them quickly.

Unexpectedly, Severus pushed himself up and sat back on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms again. "I highly doubt they teach this type of curse even at Durmstrang," he drawled.

"I didn't say I learned it from the teachers, sir," replied Bayly softly, not wishing to sound cheeky. His eyes had found a comfortable spot on the rug to stare at, but his hands wrung nervously as he tried to quell his desire to fidget.

Severus regarded the lad carefully, scrutinizing the body language along with the words. He'd have used Legilimency if he wouldn't have to hear from Albus how 'inappropriate' it was. He rolled his eyes. It got results far faster than 'talking to students', or 'trying to figure out what ails them'. What was he, a bloody Muggle psychiatrist?

He'd heard the discipline at Durmstrang was ten times harsher than at Hogwarts, and if Young's reaction was any indication, it was probably true. The boy expected to be beaten, no question there…perhaps even worse. At times he lamented how lenient Hogwarts had become under Dumbledore. Corporal punishment—or the threat of it—worked nearly as well as Legilimency in getting answers and keeping order.

As for that blasted curse, Severus harbored no doubt whatsoever that after fully examining Loughlin, Poppy would conclude this to be the same spell that had struck Miss Granger in the Department of Mysteries. The little monster in front of him claimed to have learned the curse from a classmate, which wasn't unreasonable. Half the Hogwarts students had learned spells from parents before coming to school, it was very widespread, as was sharing those spells with friends. It was also customary to continue instruction as the children aged, especially when Dark Arts were involved. But how common could this curse be when he—a Death Eater and devotee of the Dark Arts—didn't know it?

"Sir, I don't mean to sound impertinent," said Bayly in a near whisper. The tension from waiting in silence while the professor glared at him was driving him crazy. "But if you please I'd rather get the whipping over with."

"Did I ask what you'd _rather_?" inquired Snape coldly, flicking an eyebrow up.

"No, sir." Bayly continued to stare at the floor. This Snape was as cruel as the loads of horror stories he'd heard about the old Potions teacher. He must be using mind games to prolong the agony before punishing him.

"Explain to me exactly how you came to be using dark magic on your housemate, Mr. Young."

Bayly gulped. "I couldn't get into the tower, I didn't understand the riddle. Those Ravenclaw jerks came up and one of 'em called me stupid, so I kneed him in the gut. Then the other Ravenclaw shot a hex at me and we started dueling, and when the one I hit got up to fight I just threw whatever I could. There were two of them, I didn't have time to think. I didn't really mean to hurt him bad."

For another long moment Severus was silent again. Having spent his school years fighting four Marauders at a time, he could sympathize with the boy's plight. Nonetheless, he'd done harm and that couldn't be overlooked. "I note you call your housemates 'those Ravenclaws'," observed Severus. "In case you hadn't noticed, _you_ are also a Ravenclaw."

"No, I'm not!" objected Bayly bitterly, finally lifting his head to look at Snape. "I got put there, but I don't belong. I'm not as smart as they are and they like to let me know it." He dropped his head again in defeat, his whole body slumping in the chair. "Doesn't matter anyway. Once you expel me, I'm dead."

"I don't intend to expel you, Mr. Young—not this time. But if I find you using dark magic on students again, I will personally break numerous Hogwarts regulations to put you through a living nightmare of Dark Arts. Do we understand one another?" Severus' glare caressed the boy's face like a red hot poker.

Bayly bobbed his head vigorously. He knew from stories his father told what Snape was capable of, he didn't care to find out firsthand if they were entirely accurate. "Yes, Headmaster."

"You will serve two weeks detention with me starting tomorrow evening. You are dismissed."

Stunned by his good fortune, Bayly jumped out of the chair, bowed quickly, and tore from the room before the man changed his mind. He didn't know or care why he wasn't being truly punished, all he wanted was to create as much distance between himself and Headmaster Snape as possible. By the time he'd reached his tower and his heart had slowed to a reasonable rhythm, another thought struck him: he was to serve detention with Snape. There could be no better opportunity to keep an eye on him as he'd been ordered. Dolohov…Father…would be pleased.

Back in his office, Severus was in the process of contacting Professor Flitwick, whose responsibility it was to see to it that the Ravenclaws behaved civilly toward their own, if toward no one else. From the looks of it, the whole House needed a good dressing-down. And while he was at it, he'd have Flitwick instruct the bloody knocker to let Bayly in without its asinine riddles. He didn't need fights every other day. Despite the fact that the boy may not be traditional Ravenclaw material, he had a right to his House.

There was something about that Young boy that preyed in Severus' mind. He was no fool, even if he was no genius. Wielding a wand that well at dark magic at his age….well, Snape intended to learn all he could of this Bayly Young in the two weeks ahead.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Rodolphus could have found Rabastan much earlier if he'd really wanted to; he hadn't wanted to. In fact, before the initial shock wore off and he'd got his anger under control, he hadn't been altogether sure he ever wanted to speak to his brother again.

Varden had spun him quite a tale about the day Claudius Lestrange died, one entirely inconsistent with what he'd told the aurors and everyone else. _Claudius and Varden were in the living room alone having a few drinks. Claudius got drunk, stumbled and fell, hit his head on the marble fireplace mantle._ That had been the official story, the story Rodolphus had believed until a few hours ago. Now he didn't know what to believe.

He heaved a deep sigh and headed back to the house. Dusk was settling in, he'd have a hard time of it picking his way through the wood in the dark. Quite by accident he came across Rabastan sitting cross-legged on the back lawn in the crabgrass, gazing into the west. At that moment he looked far younger than his forty-plus years as a pure serenity lit his face. Rodolphus stood back a ways, watching the sun dip below the horizon leaving only the dark blue of the sky fading to lighter blue, pale yellow, and finally orange where the sun had vacated its spot.

"Hey, Dolph," Rabastan said without turning around.

"How did you know it was me?"

Rabastan shrugged. "I always know. You walk like _you_." He went silent for a bit, pensive, then he said, "You know what's so special about sunsets? They're like miracles."

"It happens every day. I'd hardly call that a miracle," scoffed the elder of the two. He walked up and crouched beside his brother.

"It's like starting over," said Rabastan, unable to tear his eyes off the horizon. "Didn't you ever wish you could start over?"

_Only every day for the past seventeen years_, thought Rodolphus dryly. What difference did it make? Fresh, clean slates were a fantasy, he wasn't going to indulge a silly fantasy. "What would you change if you could start over?" he queried smoothly, hoping the deceit in his tone wasn't too evident, for it screamed deafeningly in his own ears. While he was loath to outright accuse Rabbie of patricide, he wasn't above trying to draw a confession out of him.

"For one thing, I'd be born into a different family," chuckled Rabastan, twisting his neck to look over at Dolph, who wasn't amused. "Okay, for real, I'd not have joined the dark lord."

Surprised, Rodolphus responded, "You used to talk of it all the time!"

Rabastan switched his vision back to the sunset. "I only ever talked of it cuz dad was a Death Eater. Since I couldn't please him any other way, I figured maybe he wouldn't see me as just a worthless, extra son if I served his master. Once dad was dead, I wouldn't have bothered except _you_ went and joined, so I did, too." He shrugged again.

"I only joined to spend more time with Bella," admitted Rodolphus. "That and for the pleasure of exterminating Muggles. I didn't expect you to follow me."

No, he hadn't expected it, per se….but he hadn't blinked an eye when Rabbie asked him to take him to the dark lord. He'd simply assumed Rabastan wanted to serve, though in retrospect it should've been obvious, since his brother had always followed in his footsteps out of sheer devotion, something Rodolphus secretly cherished. All their years growing up he'd been the leader, the trendsetter; why should that be any different?

As if to confirm his loyalty, Rabastan murmured, "You're my brother. It seemed like the right thing."

Overwhelmed by a wave of shame that drenched him to the core, Rodolphus stood up abruptly with an odd tightening in his chest that made breathing difficult. Rabbie had entered the dark lord's service because of _him_, had been led into the lion's den by _him_ even though Rodolphus had had misgivings early on about the possibility of winning the war and establishing pureblood rule; logically then, as a result of that horrific choice, Rabbie had spent all those years in Azkaban because of _him_, had suffered terribly all those years because of the allegiance he held to Rodolphus. A churning in his stomach warned him of imminent sickness.

"You didn't have to earn my love," he uttered gruffly.

"I know," replied the other as he began to fiddle with a clump of brown grass. "That's why I trust you."

"I'm not always right!" blurted Rodolphus. His jaw clamped shut and in a fit of nerves he bit the inside of his mouth, drawing blood that permeated his mouth with an awful metallic taste.

"I never said you were."

It was now or never, he had to know. Through a tremor in his throat, Rodolphus managed to speak without faltering, "Why did you do it, Rabbie?"

His brother looked up at him quizzically. "I told you, because you—"

"Why did you kill dad?"

The question finally out in the open, his heart pounding in his head like a drumbeat, Rodolphus slid to the ground and landed on his knees, his brown eyes fixed on the blanched countenance rapidly becoming ashen. For a fleeting second, Rabastan was once more that little boy caught in mischief and terrified of the punishment to come.

"What did Uncle Varden tell you?" he whispered.

"It doesn't matter what he said. I want to hear it from you."

Rabastan lowered his gaze, unable to face his brother. His voice quaked slightly as he said, "It was an accident, Dolph. I swear."

"Then why didn't you tell me about it? You lied to the aurors, you lied to everybody." _You lied to __me__._ That hurt most of all.

"Because nobody would've believed me!" cried Rabastan, lifting his anguished face that held so much torment, so much pain it hurt Rodolphus to look at him. "They'd say I did it out of revenge for the way he treated me, but I didn't."

When Rodolphus put out a hand to touch his brother's shoulder, the younger man flinched, shaming Rodolphus again without quite understanding why. "Tell me what happened."

Head hanging down, eyes squeezed shut, a tear slipped beneath his lashes as he mentally relived the experience. "He was beating me again with that damned strap. I didn't do anything, I _told_ him it wasn't me, but he _never_ believed me. I'd put up with his crap for eighteen f—king years, Dolph! I just—I couldn't take it anymore, I snapped. I grabbed my wand and _stupefied_ him. I didn't mean to hurt him, just make him _stop_! He fell backward and whacked his head on the mantle." By now the wizard was crying in earnest. "I know you loved him, Dolph. I didn't mean to take him from you."

Very quietly, feeling a lump rising in his throat, Rodolphus answered, "It was an accident. You didn't mean to."

"I didn't know what to do, I knew they'd blame me for murder and you'd hate me. I couldn't stand for you to hate me," wailed Rabastan, baring his soul now that the truth was out. "Uncle Varden came in and saw him on the floor…he's the one who put firewhiskey in dad's mouth and the bottle in his hand. He protected me," he finished, his voice cracking.

For the first time since they were children, Rodolphus leaned in and pulled his brother to his chest, rocking him gently while he wept. "I couldn't hate you, Rabbie, you're my little brother. I would've protected you. Always."

(Note to B-rad: next chapter you may get your wish!)


	18. Potions, Mudbloods,&Vampires

Death Eater No More—Chapter Eighteen (Potions, Mudbloods, and Vampires)

(**Author's Note**: If you haven't read "I, Too, Shall Follow", you will unfortunately miss out on the history and background of Mateo, who played a prominent role in that story; you may also miss the nuances associated with his relationship to Lucius, whom he met roughly nineteen years ago).

As per instructions attached to the leg of the owl who'd dropped in on Bayly at lunchtime, he showed up at the dungeon laboratory exactly at seven o'clock for his detention. There was no one there. To stave off the gloom, he cast a _lumos_ charm at the numerous torches lining the walls, then began to wander along the shelves lining the stones, gazing inquisitively at the myriad of creatures pickled in jars all around the room. At his old Potions class, the room had been light and clean—sterile almost. Certainly there were no oddities to keep one interested, or distracted as the case may be.

He picked up a jar the size of his head between both hands and lifted it to the light. A strange fish of some sort with sharp, scissor-like teeth and protruding eyeballs gawked back at him.

"Put. That. Down."

The sudden icy voice made Bayly quail and he nearly dropped the jar. He hadn't heard anyone coming, yet there Professor Snape was, substantiating in Bayly's mind the wizard's vampire-esque qualities. He fumbled a bit getting the jar back on the shelf and spun around to face the Headmaster, snapping to attention.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know we weren't allowed to touch, sir," he offered.

Severus ignored his attempt at apology as he swept over to the nearest table. "Come here, Mr. Young." Bayly made haste to the table and stood meekly across from Snape. "How were your potions marks at Durmstrang?"

"Pretty good, sir."

"So if I told you I needed lotus root and hippogriff hooves, what might you surmise I was making?" asked Severus with his uncannily disturbing glare.

Bayly racked his brains rapidly, trying to sift through all the potions, creams, and elixirs he'd ever made, read about, or heard of. For the life of him he couldn't recall a single instance when those two ingredients were used together, especially since lotus root had a calming effect while the hooves tended to do exactly the opposite.

"A mess, sir?" he responded tentatively.

At that, Severus' lips turned up at the corners into an amused smirk and his eyes lost some of their hostility. "Just so." Maybe the boy wasn't as hopeless as most of the students who were a veritable waste of space and oxygen in this class. "During your detention you will be assisting me to prepare medicines for the school infirmary."

"Headmaster, I thought that was the job of the Potions teacher," blurted Bayly. Shocked at his own outburst—questioning authority when he was already in trouble—he clamped a hand over his mouth, eyes like hazel saucers.

Snape merely sneered, "I was the Potions instructor here for longer than you've been alive, Mr. Young. And considering the boy you injured is currently guzzling half the supply, I think it is appropriate that you help to replenish it."

"Yes, sir," murmured the lad. He didn't like being reminded of Loughlin. Although no one in Ravenclaw House had dared antagonize him after his duel and the severe upbraiding Professor Flitwick rained down upon the whole House, he couldn't miss the sidelong looks or hasty whispers behind his back.

"We'll begin with a spleen restorer."

Severus set to brewing the potion with Bayly fetching ingredients and preparing them as directed. He'd fully braced himself to deal with ineptitude on a grand scale, yet as the evening wore on he discovered he'd found no real desire to denigrate or insult the boy, who did precisely as he was told without question or smartass remarks. In fact, he barely spoke at all except in response to the professor's command or comment. That alone made the evening bearable instead of the inane chattering or caterwauling of insufferable lunkheads, but to top it off Bayly seemed very adept in the proper mode of handling ingredients, he didn't hack and maim like a madman set loose with a Muggle chainsaw. If Snape were prone to expressions of joy, he'd have been downright gleeful at encountering a student he didn't want to either slap very hard, curse to Hades, or toss off the Astronomy tower.

More and more he found himself craving the discipline that produced such a pupil. Assuredly Bayly was no anomaly, he was simply the product of stringent rules and practices, meaning that Hogwarts pupils could aspire to better than mediocrity with proper incentives.

Perhaps he should re-institute corporal punishment after all. Filch never passed up an opportunity to decry the laxity and impudence of today's students—something Snape also couldn't argue with—while pining for the good old days of hanging children in the dungeons and flogging them with whips. While Severus wouldn't go that far, he could think of several students offhand who'd benefit from a thorough switching. If their parents didn't like it, they were free to withdraw their sniveling brats and send them elsewhere—though Hogwarts was by far the most lenient of any wizarding school he knew, so good luck on finding one to accommodate the little beasts.

"That will do for tonight, Mr. Young," said Severus as he poured the last of the nausea-curbing brew into a bottle. It was with an unfamiliar sensation of surprised satisfaction he noted that Bayly had _of his own initiative_ cleaned off the other two tables they'd used and put away the extra ingredients, as well as having scoured the used cauldrons to a shining copper.

"Don't you want me to straighten up this table, Professor Snape?"

"It's ten o'clock. Surely you have homework to complete."

"No, sir. I mean, I did it before I came here," replied Bayly. For a second he thought he'd caught a glimpse of something in the man's eye, a strange glint…if he didn't know better, he'd think it was an unsettling prelude to a hug! But of course he was seeing things; this was the Bat of the Dungeons, a feared and respected Death Eater who'd as soon hex him as look at him!

_Good God, I adore this boy!_ shot through Snape's mind, immediately to be clamped down and crushed into pulp. Severus Snape did not _like_, let alone _adore_, his students even if they were every teacher's dream pupil come to life! He'd been known to tolerate the brats, even favor a few here and there—Slytherins, naturally. But aside from Draco, who as his godson didn't count as an ordinary pupil, he'd never actually ever—EVER—considered the possibility that another might merit his attentive guidance, might possibly possess more than an inkling of ability in this demanding field.

Obviously he was letting himself be carried away by the headiness of the moment. So the kid obeyed orders and kept his mouth shut—every child should do that. He kept a tidy workspace without the need to nag him and he did his homework before coming to detention; it was probably only what had been beaten into him at his other school. The fact that he could measure, cut, and prepare with a skillful, relaxed touch Severus had rarely seen…well, what did it really mean? He'd only acted as an assistant, he hadn't brewed the potions himself. Very likely he'd prove to be as irrevocably obtuse at working alone as the rest of the lame little rodents he'd had the misfortune to teach over the years.

"I said you may go," reiterated Snape waspishly.

Bayly made a small bow and left the room. On his way back to the Ravenclaw Tower, he mused over the evening. Snape hadn't been sarcastic or cruel like everyone accused him of. He hadn't been communicative at all. So he was very focused on his task, so what? Any inattention could cause the potion to go wrong and they'd have to start all over; in the scheme of things it made proper sense to cut out the chit-chat and get down to work. Besides, punishment wasn't supposed to be fun, and if he'd let Snape know how enthralled he was by watching the man work, he'd probably be assigned something tedious like scrubbing floors or toilets. Secretly, though, he looked forward to detention tomorrow.

Then he remembered with a sickening lurch of his stomach his father's directive. He was to find a way to get Dolohov into Hogwarts or a time that the Headmaster left Hogwarts and would be alone—like buying potion supplies, perhaps? But wouldn't Professor Conn be doing that? He'd have to try to talk to Snape a little during the detention, try to draw him out. If he were unsuccessful, at least he could tell Dolohov he tried. Not that it would mitigate the torture to come…

Back in the Potions laboratory, Severus had finished putting away the herbs and cleansed the cauldron. He sent the three new bottles of medicine via floo to Poppy, then wandered over to his old desk, barely recognizable now. Instead of the stacks of books, student reports, and vials to grade, the top was revoltingly clear; he pulled open a drawer and sure enough, it was sufficiently organized to warrant a medal from the Obsessive/Compulsive Society.

"Anal retentive chit," he groused about the new instructor. He withdrew a section of parchment, quill, and ink, and sat down to pen a letter.

_Molly,_

_I've not forgotten your entreaty regarding Percy. Kingsley Shacklebolt has assured me he will notify me as soon as everything is arranged. Apparently he must take measures to ensure that there is no appearance of impropriety._

_I promise to do what I can._

_Severus Snape_

"Pipsqueak!" he said loudly, and it echoed in the empty classroom.

A tiny house elf—even by house elf standards—popped in beside him. "Yes, Headmaster Snape?" he said eagerly.

"Take this to Molly Weasley at the Borrow," he instructed. He handed the rolled up paper to the elf as he added, "And tell her I do believe Percy is innocent."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

All of Slytherin House was gathered in their common room before supper, and none of them looked happy. Sammy and Magda had turned them all out of their rooms and hunted down any missing members in the castle before informing their Head of House that everyone was present and accounted for. Now they waited.

"What're we here for?" complained a seventh year girl.

"Probably to get chewed out for _somebody_ losing us fifty House points," snapped Magda, pointedly glaring at a pair of boys who both looked as if they'd been through the wringer, which they had. Common Slytherin practice dictated that those who lost House points were fair game for the rest as long as no teacher interfered. Poundings and jinxes were to be expected.

"We already beat them up. What else are we supposed to do?" chimed in the boy next to the girl who'd spoken. "I'm hungry."

"And you'll stay that way until I've determined my snakes are fit for civilized society," announced Aline Conn from the doorway. If the blasted thing hadn't been so heavy, she'd have slammed it to accentuate her displeasure. Instead she strode over to stand in front of her troop looking quite incensed.

"It wasn't us, Professor, it was _them_," whined a second year girl from her spot on the floor.

"I'm well aware of who lost us points, Ginger." A scowl worthy of Snape himself landed on the two boys, who squirmed under the scathing glower. "What concerns me is the _reason_ Professor Potter deducted the points."

"He hates Slytherin!" piped up a sixth year. Numerous students nodded and verbalized agreement.

Aline sighed. Sadly, the children were telling the truth insofar as they understood it. From what she'd gleaned from other teachers, Harry Potter had waged a rivalry with Draco Malfoy throughout their years at Hogwarts, and the fact that Professor Snape had been antagonistic to Potter—go figure, that stellar representation of a wizard being antagonistic!—and blatantly biased in favor of Slytherin hadn't helped matters.

"I don't believe Mr. Potter is that petty. He told me he penalized Wesley and Tait for referring to Professor Granger as 'that mudblood teacher'."

She waited for a reaction from the assembly; some of the higher years had the decency to look abashed, while most of the younger children seemed confused.

"But she is a mudblood," said one of the first years innocently.

"What's a mudblood?" asked another first year.

"_You_," retorted the girl behind him, kicking him lightly in the rear for emphasis without hurting him.

The little boy twisted around to gaze at the older girl. "A mudblood is a firstie?"

The girl rolled her eyes, several others snickered. Aline cleared her throat loudly.

"Before I begin the lecture, I want to commend you all for following our primary rule: all Slytherins are family. I haven't had a single complaint of any of you persecuting your housemates for their blood status. I expect it to stay that way. That said, I must do what needs to be done."

The two boys who'd provoked the entire situation had begun to green around the gills, remembering the hideous tortures Professor Conn had discussed on the first day. One of them looked set to upchuck on the thick rug.

"Children, 'mudblood' is a very bad, hateful word used to taunt Muggleborns. Just as I won't tolerate swearing or cursing in any form, I won't tolerate the use of this word by my students. Is that clear?"

Some of the group nodded, some murmured an assent, but a few remained defiant. Wasn't it bad enough they'd had two of the loathsome mudbloods sorted into their House and they were forbidden to pick on them? Now they weren't even allowed to rag on those from other Houses no matter how much they asked for it or deserved it! They weren't allowed any swearing at all! The only thing left was hexing, which could get them caught by a teacher.

Aline surreptitiously noted those who had stubbornly refused to acquiesce; luckily she hadn't anticipated a cake walk. "Denny, do you have a problem with that?"

"Well…yes, ma'am. My parents use that word all the time. And I don't see why we should have to act like mud—Muggleborns are the same as purebloods! They steal our magic and we have to pretend there's nothing wrong with it!"

Again there were various nods and voices chiming in to agree.

There it was, that time-worn argument that Muggleborns somehow 'stole' magic, which had never made any sense to Aline. If that were the case, Muggles would have taken all the magic by now. "Who are they stealing it from, Denny? Your magic is intact, all of us here have our magic."

"I don't know—squibs, maybe."

"Yeah! That's why they don't have magic!" burst out a mid-level girl. "I always wondered how that happened."

"Nobody steals magic from squibs!" responded Aline forcefully…maybe too forcefully, for the front row of children on the floor cringed. Modulating her tone she went on, "There are many more Muggleborns than there are squibs. Mathematically that wouldn't work out. Also, when one squib marries another squib, they oftentimes have magical children. How would that be possible if someone had taken their magic?"

"They get it from other squibs?" offered a brave albeit dense soul who withered under her stare.

"No," said Aline with a hint of annoyance. "It's called genetics, the reason we resemble parents or grandparents, or have the same color eyes and so forth. These characteristics are handed down from parent to child, but once in a while things skip a generation. For example, I knew an elderly witch who had six toes on each foot. Her children had normal feet, but _their_ children have six toes."

She paused to let them think about it for a minute.

"Magic is the same way, handed down from parents to children, but when it skips a generation that person is a squib. The magic is still in there, they just can't use it, but they can give it to their children."

Not completely convinced, Denny persisted, "But where do mu—Muggleborns get magic? Their parents don't have it, or grandparents, either."

"That's a good question," said Aline as she surveyed the group. At least they were thinking about what she said, with their eyes intently trained on her. "Long ago, some of our ancestors mixed with Muggles either by marriage or…other means. They produced halfbloods, most of whom were magical. When halfbloods married Muggles, and their children married Muggles, and so on down through the years, the magic got watered down, but the spark is still there. When two Muggles from magical backgrounds marry, sometimes the magic becomes manifest in the children."

One of the older students, a halfblood, crossed his arms, leaned back, and chuckled out loud. "So what you're saying is some of the ancient purebloods had bastard children whose Muggleborn descendants could be related to the purebloods in this room."

"Basically, yes," admitted Aline. With the shock and horror written on the faces of a good half the children, she thought it best not to bother rebuking the term 'bastard' just now. It had made its point quite succinctly.

Out of the blue a cry of "Ewww!" split the room, followed by "Yuck!" and assorted other exclamations, mingled with their disbelieving chatter and the laughter of those halfbloods who'd been mocked and harassed for years. Aline let them vent their emotions for a couple of minutes before proceeding.

"Now that we've established that all magic came from the same source and that no one is taking any magic from anybody else, perhaps we can move on," Aline said, cutting their grumbling short.

"They still don't know how to act," griped the girl who'd kicked the firstie Muggleborn in front of her. "They don't know our traditions or customs—they're barbarians!"

"It's your job as part of the Slytherin family to show them," replied Aline. "You were lucky to be brought up around magic, they weren't. Be kind enough to teach them. That goes for all of you, as does my earlier admonition. If I hear that even one of my snakes is using that forbidden word, there will be consequences. I insist that you respect your teachers and other students."

"You wouldn't take off points, would you?" asked Sammy. "I mean, the other teachers already have it in for Slytherins, and we'd lose the House Cup for sure."

Aline smiled, not in a comforting way. "No, Sammy, taking points wouldn't be harsh enough now that you've all been warned. Here's the deal: if that word is used, _everyone_ in Slytherin will suffer. No upcoming trip to Hogsmeade, no upcoming Quidditch match—we'll forfeit the game." This elicited groans and disgruntled exclamations from the team. "No upcoming dance, be it Halloween or Christmas." Here both girls and boys looked scandalized—how could they then socialize, a.k.a. openly snog in public? "If anyone cares to reap the fury of the rest of their housemates, by all means use that word. But I have a lot of duties, I can't guarantee I'll be there to protect you if you do."

The whole group seemed to be reduced to a pack of solemn faces resembling owls in their big-eyed, incredulous stares. She wasn't joking. One person could mess things up for everybody, necessitating heavy peer pressure to make sure privileges weren't revoked. And God help that person who _did_ mess things up…

"You may go to supper now, except for you, Tait and Wesley. You go to your rooms and study. You're to be in bed by eight o'clock, and I'll be checking to make sure you are."

The students filed out quietly past her, heads down, almost like they were afraid she'd see the angry, mutinous thoughts swirling in their minds. Professor Snape had ranted at them, he'd taken away individual privileges, he'd terrorized them on occasion, but he'd never punished the entire House for the actions of one!

As if to confirm their suspicions regarding her abilities, Aline called out as she followed them, "I'm not Professor Snape!" She smirked at how they actually twitched with dismay to think she'd read their minds. Let them think so, it only made things easier for her.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

He'd been flying over the Malfoy Manor grounds for the last two hours, gliding low so as to make certain to miss nothing, just as he did several times a year at the full moon. Having concluded the property to be free of rogue werewolves—a self-appointed task he'd diligently observed ever since that infamous infestation of the beasts eighteen years ago—Mateo Malfoy touched down lightly in the back orchard, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight, his short blond hair shining almost white.

He'd seen movement, but not of the werewolf variety. He sniffed the air: _man_. And only one. Standing rock still, Mateo listened attentively while his pale blue eyes scanned the treeline before him. At first there was nothing but the wind rustling through the leaves, then he picked up the dim staccato thumping of a terrified human's heart.

An amused smile spread over his pale features. Were humans truly so stupid as to think they could hide from a vampire? Letting his ears dictate the direction, he sped across the orchard too quickly for a human to have hope of escaping; an instant later he yanked the man up by the hair from behind a fallen log, easily dragging him up with one hand until the man's toes barely scraped the ground.

"Why are you here?" Mateo snarled, drawing back his lips to expose his fangs.

"I-I-don't bite me, please! I'm a friend of Malfoy—Lucius!" screamed the man…or more aptly, he croaked it, for fear choked his voice.

"Is that so? I wasn't aware Lucius sent his guests to sleep in the orchard," crooned the vampire. "It's not very genteel of him, is it?"

The bloke dangling from his hand was too busy panting and struggling to try to come up with an answer. Mateo studied him curiously. He wasn't ill-dressed; his dark hair, while untidy at the moment, was cut in a modern hairstyle; he sported a thick mustache, but the beard was mere stubble, which meant he'd shaved within the last week or so. If he wasn't a werewolf, and obviously he wasn't, what was he doing skulking over the Malfoy estate?

Just to tease, Mateo brought his face up close to the fellow's neck, snickering at the piteous whimpers. "You're lucky I've eaten recently," he purred. Slowly he stroked his fangs across the exposed neck.

He considered biting the trespasser on general principles, though he truly wasn't hungry. Vampires needed only small amounts of blood once a week, and though it wouldn't hurt the man if Mateo fed, he held himself back. Yadiro, his cult leader in Spain, would have a hissy fit if he found out Mateo was feeding on unwilling victims. And he did _not_ relish facing Yadiro when the leader was pissed, he'd been down that road.

"Please let me go," whispered the man.

In response Mateo brought up his free hand, and with his palm he slapped the man in the forehead, hard. The man went limp. Mateo clasped his arm around his waist and pushed off the ground, flying so low he could almost touch the grass on his way to the manor. He landed at the front porch, ascended the steps with the human in tow, and knocked.

Sisidy cracked open the door, then her grotesque elf face beamed in a smile. "Master Mateo comes back! Master Malfoy is missing you…" She trailed off when she noticed the odd, large package under his arm. "Sisidy gets Master Malfoy!"

She popped out so suddenly Mateo wasn't certain if she'd left the door open on purpose, but he was hesitant to enter without permission so he stood there and waited. Moments later Lucius apparated to the door and flung it open wide, the delight in his face unmistakable.

"Mateo, it's so good to see you! It's been over two years!" He went in for their traditional hug, then lurched backward as his eyes fell on the bundle Mateo carried. His happiness turned grim.

"Hello, nephew," smiled Mateo. Because Lucius looked substantially older than Mateo, to a casual observer it would seem an odd thing to say, unless one knew that Mateo had been brought into the vampire fold at the age of twenty-five…well over three hundred years ago. "I brought you a present I found sneaking in your orchard." He dropped the man on the porch, where he lay motionless.

"Damn it, Mateo, I wish you'd stop bringing me these 'gifts'," Lucius grumbled. First a werewolf's head, now a vagrant. He stepped out onto the porch and pushed the man onto his back with the toe of his shoe. His grey eyes widened and his jaw dropped ever so slightly. It was Walden Macnair, and he looked to be dead.


	19. A Helping Hand

Death Eater No More—Chapter Nineteen (A Helping Hand)

(**Author's Note**: Thank you to all who voted in the Quibbler Awards! My story _Lucius and the Shrink_ won in the category of Best Parody/Comedy! That story also got runner up in Best Oneshot, and this story got runner up in Best General. Thanks again!)

Lucius recoiled at the sight of Walden Macnair lying crumpled in a heap at his feet. He'd seen dead bodies more times than he cared to remember, but while he and Macnair had never been close friends, as a casual comrade he really wasn't a bad sort. He gave a frustrated groan. "Mateo, did you kill him?"

"Why, did you want me to?" inquired the vampire mischievously.

Casting a withering glance at his relative, Lucius bent down to check for the wizard's pulse; it beat strong and steady. "I can't leave him here, obviously."

"He should awake soon," offered Mateo. "Try kicking him."

"I'd prefer not to, if it's all the same," replied Lucius dryly.

"Why? He shouldn't have been creeping around the estate. Do you know him or something?"

"As a matter of fact, he's a Death Eater escaped from Azkaban, and if anyone sees him here, I will be called in for questioning. Sisidy!"

The tiny being apparated directly beside him, the better to snuggle against the leg of her favorite human. "Yes, Master Malfoy? Is it dead?"

"No, he's alive. Take him to the cellar, make sure it's locked, and put a silencing spell around the place in case he wakes up and decides to pitch a fit."

"Yes, Master Malfoy." Needing to bend only a few inches, she took hold of Macnair's sleeve in her bony fingers and whisked him away.

"Come on in, Mateo," invited Lucius, leading him across the marble floor of the entryway. "Have a seat in the living room here, I'll fetch Narcissa and Draco."

When Lucius departed, Mateo remained standing, his head swiveling back and forth to take in the splendor of the place. He'd seen it many times, but his two-year absence necessitated reacquainting himself.

"Mateo, is that you?"

The vampire swung around, recognizing the voice. "Abraxas! How are you?"

"I'm a portrait, how do you think I am?" he responded drolly. Thalia giggled at her husband's wit. His grey eyes, so like his son's, twinkled in spite of himself.

Mateo grinned. "I've missed you. All of you."

"Why haven't you come back for so long?"

"I have many times—to check for werewolves, you know. Can't be too careful," said Mateo, nodding in agreement with himself. "But I didn't show myself because that madman Lord Voldemort had taken over the place. I only just heard he'd been killed."

"Did you know Lucius had gone to Azkaban for a year?" asked Abraxas as he studied the vampire carefully.

Mateo's body grew rigid and he looked truly horrified. "No! I had no idea!" He blinked several times and started to pace in agitation. "I wish I'd known, I would've gone to save him."

Abraxas bobbed his head slowly, relaxing. He'd expected nothing less from the _sangrista_, as they called themselves in Mateo's cult. He'd taken a real shine to the whole family, which had proven a boon not only in the defense of the property, but in the lives of the people who lived here.

"That's comforting to hear," said Lucius, strolling arm in arm with his wife. "But the wards around the prison most likely would have kept you out."

"Mateo, how lovely to see you," said Narcissa as she moved away from Lucius to clasp hands with the vampire. As always, the initial frigid touch startled her.

"Narcissa, sweet lady." He kissed her hand and his eyes drifted down to the small bulge of her abdomen. "Are you eating well, or do my eyes deceive me? Is there another Malfoy on the way?"

"There is," she gushed. Unable to hold back her joy, her face split into a huge smile and she rubbed her bump affectionately. "Due in February."

"_Felicidades_!" exclaimed Mateo pulling her into a hug, then lunging over to embrace Lucius. "I'm so happy for you, I know how you wanted more children. Maybe another hellion like Draco," he added, smirking and chuckling.

"Hey!" cried Draco from behind his father. "I wasn't a hellion."

Mateo pretended to be surprised at the sight of him. "Ah, there you are! Look how tall you've gotten, my young nephew." He shook his head sagely. "How time flies. Soon we'll be the same age!" He then laughed uproariously at his own joke.

"You need to get out more often, Mateo," grumbled Draco, though he smiled and accepted the friendly hug around his shoulders.

"What, I'm not Uncle anymore?"

Draco smirked back at him. "Like you said, in a few years we'll be the same age. It's kind of weird. Although now that the dark lord is gone, I can tell my friends that my uncle is a vampire! That'll create a stir."

"Oh, _now_ I'm your uncle—when you want to impress people…or scare them or whatever your conniving motivation might be," retorted Mateo, feigning hurt.

"Draco, stop tormenting Mateo," ordered Lucius absently, his mind on other matters of the cellar variety.

Taken aback, Draco demanded, "What'd I do?"

Lucius ignored the question. "I must speak with Mateo alone for a bit," he stated with a that's-all-I'm-going-to-tell-you look. "Then we'll come back and you can visit with him."

He ushered the _sangrista_ out of the room, apparated them both to the door outside the dank room holding Macnair, and lit the tip of his wand for light. In a hushed tone he uttered, "I need to deal with Macnair and get him out of here as soon as possible. Did he tell you what he was doing in my orchard?"

Mateo shook his head innocently as if he hadn't terrorized the man so badly he couldn't have explained if he tried. "No, just claimed to be a friend of yours. I knocked him out to shut him up, he was getting on my nerves. I assumed he had to be up to no good or he'd have come to the manor, right?"

Lucius inclined his head somewhat and shivered. "That makes sense. Aren't you cold?"

The moment the words escaped his lips he felt like an idiot. Despite the fact that Mateo wore only his decidedly un-wizard-like garb of Muggle T-shirt and jeans, he never felt cold—one byproduct of being a vampire. Lucius _accio_'d his cloak, which flew down the steps and into his hand; he draped the heavy garment around his shoulders and sighed. Much better.

Watching the casual manner in which Lucius employed his magic sent a slight wave of envy through Mateo. He, too, had been a wizard before being attacked and turned into a _sangrista_, causing him to lose his magical abilities. It had been well over three hundred years since that night, but frankly at times he still missed what he used to be.

Bracing himself to fire upon the man if he'd awakened and tried to assail him, Lucius unlocked the door and swung it open, then cast a quick charm to light the room. Macnair sat propped up in a corner, hugging his legs, but he jumped to his feet on seeing the wizard—then promptly slammed himself back against the wall in panic upon spying the vampire with him.

"Don't sick him on me, Malfoy! I didn't—"

"Shut up, Macnair," Lucius admonished. He threw out another silencing charm to make sure the family didn't hear. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing on my property? This mansion isn't Death Eaters Anonymous, for crying out loud! Why does everyone think it imperative to make an appearance? There could be aurors watching the estate to see if any of my old cronies come waltzing up—oh, like you!"

"Don't sick me on you?" Mateo paraphrased with raised eyebrows and an incredulous tone. "I'm not a freaking dog, thank you very much!"

"Mateo, could we focus here?" snapped Lucius.

"Well, I'm not your lapdog!" Mateo snapped back. "And you're _my_ great-great-great-something nephew, so if anything _you_ ought to take orders from _me_!"

"When did you get so f—king sensitive?" groused Lucius.

"Merlin's balls, you're related to him?" Macnair yelped.

"Vampires have feelings," rejoined Mateo. He crossed his arms over his chest, directing a hostile glare at Macnair. "And pride."

Lucius tilted his head back, biting his lip to keep from saying something that was sure to be unwelcome and unpleasant, while closing his eyes to compose himself. A few deep breaths later, his control restored, he opened his eyes to glower at Macnair.

"Moving on. You didn't answer my question. What are you doing here?"

"The Lestranges' uncle kicked me and Dolohov out," said Macnair, not budging an inch from the wall. "I got no family, I had nowhere to go."

That part Lucius knew to be true. The first time Macnair had been sentenced to Azkaban many years ago, his wife had divorced him; he had no children, no siblings Malfoy was aware of.

"That doesn't explain why you're _here_," Lucius hissed. "If you're discovered here, I'll be heading to Azkaban with you, and believe me when I say I have absolutely no intention of allowing that to happen."

Mateo interrupted with a helpful, "Why don't I just snap his neck for you and be done with it?"

If the quaking Macnair could have backed up further, he would have. "Lucius, we were schoolmates, friends of sorts. I thought you could lend me a hand."

"When he didn't even know you were here?" interjected Mateo. "Odd way to ask for assistance."  
"I'm asking now," shot back Macnair, emboldened by Lucius' presence—or rather by his lack of hexes so far. "You own loads of properties, right? Couldn't I stay at one for a while?"

"No, it's too dangerous for my family."

A ghastly, despicable, deliciously deviant idea slipped into his mind from the deepest recesses of his repressed memories. It swirled about in a gray haze as it lazily formed itself into a semblance of a plan. Lucius' mouth twitched and he began to chuckle quietly. _Payback's a bitch, Macnair. You laughed when the dark lord tortured me, now it's my turn to laugh._ It was so awful, so cruel, could he do it to a friend even if it kept said friend out of sight of the Ministry's many eyes? Would Macnair agree? Did he have a choice?

"I have a proposition for you, Macnair."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Out of habit Bayly arrived precisely on time for his detention; tomorrow was to be the last day of the two weeks, yet he'd not managed to wheedle anything at all from the Headmaster, who he was afraid may be growing weary of his annoying chatter and questions. It wasn't as though he talked the man's ear off, but when lulls in brewing arrived he seized the opportunity to find out what he could, which was virtually nothing….except that on occasion Snape picked herbs in the Forbidden Forest. Not terribly helpful. Snape had been a spy—a damn good one to fool Lord Voldemort all those years—and giving away personal information came as easily to him as dressing in red robes and dancing the cha-cha on the staff table in the Great Hall.

He froze in place outside the door to the Potions lab. There were voices, and they didn't sound friendly. Headmaster Snape was arguing with Professor Conn! Bayly flattened himself against the wall and edged as close as he dared in order to listen.

"I have to assume you think it wise to threaten to punish everyone for the actions of a single student," Severus drawled in a blatantly patronizing tone.

"No, I think it's incredibly stupid, that's why I'm doing it," retorted Aline snidely.

"What do you hope to accomplish? A police state wherein the children watch and tattle on each other?" asked Severus. Even though Bayly couldn't see it, he _felt_ the sneer on the wizard's face.

"I hope to achieve a cooperative group effort, _Headmaster_. Peer pressure works wonders in military academies and in the army, you know."

Bayly nodded along with her. At Durmstrang whole groups were routinely punished if one member stepped out of bounds, causing them to keep pressure on each other to obey. Like it or not, children wish acceptance from their peers, not ostracism and beatings.

"And by the way," Aline snapped, "it would be asinine to assume they'd tattle on one another since the whole point is to _avoid_ punishment." While unspoken, the word _imbecile_ seemed to hover in the air.

"Do forgive me, I lost your train of logic somewhere down the track," returned Severus evenly and entirely devoid of sincerity. "I also understand you sent two students to bed without supper. How provincial."

_Sarcastic bastard!_ Aline barely stopped the words from leaping from her mouth, nearly bit her lip to the point of bleeding, in fact, to hold it in. "My parents did it to me, and surprisingly enough I didn't starve."

"More's the pity," growled Severus under his breath.

"Maybe you think I'm bring too soft on them," crooned Aline with a wicked smile. "Maybe I should cut a dozen switches from the Whomping Willow and keep them on display in the common room as a reminder that the Headmaster has re-instituted and encourages corporal punishment."

"Perhaps it would be just as effective as threats," Snape uttered nastily. "When I was Head of Slytherin, I didn't need to use threats."

"Not when that snarky glare would cause them to wet themselves," agreed Aline spitefully. "If you think I'm so horrible as Head of Slytherin, why did you appoint me?"

"Because you're the only teacher here who holds no allegiance to any House!" Severus folded his robes around himself as he crossed his arms in what looked to be a sulk. "As Headmaster, I can't do it; the others prefer their own Houses to Slytherin."

"I feel so honored," muttered Aline. "Your motives touch me to the depths of my soul."

_I didn't know banshees had a soul._ "Be that as it may, Miss Conn, I have an appointment. You will be supervising Mr. Young tonight."

"Oh, so after all your heartfelt words you're now going to foist your detention off on me," said Aline so caustically it could scrape paint from the floor.

"Apparently so," snarled Severus.

"With your compassion and consideration, it's no wonder you're so beloved," she spat back. "What about his Head of House?"

"I've selected you, Miss Conn! I recommend you work on medicines for the infirmary—and you might also work on your attitude! End of discussion." He spun on his heel and stamped out, robes billowing, face pinched with rage. The audacity of the witch! If she weren't actually…_good_…at making potions, he'd personally throw her arse off the grounds himself, and take great pleasure in doing so! To even have to admit she was competent in potions made him want to hurl.

He came to a skidding halt as he rounded the corner and noted Bayly plastered to the stones, staring at him with fearful chagrin. His black eyes bored holes in the youth's skull. In a deep, deathly quiet voice that made Bayly blanch he said, "I suggest you not make a habit of eavesdropping on me, Mr. Young."

Bayly shook his head vigorously. "No, sir—I mean, yes, sir—I—I won't."

"Get in there."

The boy shot around the corner at blinding speed, prompting Aline to look up from the formula Severus had left behind on one of the tables. "Hello, Bayly."

He came forward almost shyly. "I'm sorry to be an imposition, Professor."

"You're not an imposition."

"I heard you arguing with the Headmaster. He's forcing you to do it," he insisted, all the while tempted to kick himself in the leg to make himself stop talking. Why was he telling her this?

Aline blushed and got an odd expression. "I'm sorry, Bayly, I shouldn't have said those things. I don't mind having you here, it's just—well, never mind. That's not your problem. Here, Professor Snape left us the formula he wants completed. Shall we?"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

In an uncharacteristic, thoroughly un-Snape manner, Severus was sputtering and bitching to himself under his breath when he arrived by floo at the Ministry of Magic. Insubordination in the ranks—well, what did he expect, hiring that cheeky wench? And then to find Bayly lurking in the corridor listening to their conversation! What was the boy up to? Severus shrugged in exasperation. Probably nothing to worry about, Young had come for his detention and been wary to enter lest the evil potions mistress do something unspeakable to him. _Shrew!_

"Severus, there you are! Over here!" Arthur Weasley bustled down the hall to latch onto Snape's arm, only to be summarily shaken off.

"I take it Percy has been brought in?" _Damned well better be_, he mused, gripping tightly the note asking him to come.

"Yes, he's in Kingsley's office," replied Arthur, unaffected by Snape's demeanor, which to him seemed perfectly ordinary. "We're waiting for you."

Severus unclasped his cloak and swung it round to drape over his arm, his ever perceptive eyes noticing the way Weasley studied the item. It didn't surprise him, Arthur hadn't the money to afford a fine imported garment like this—and if truth be known, neither did Snape. It had been a gift from Narcissa many years ago, one which he took great care to keep in pristine condition.

Together the men took the lift to the Minister's office level, then walked in silence through the nearly empty building, for most of the employees had left for home. In Shacklebolt's office they were met by the Minister himself, who warmly greeted the duo.

"Arthur, Severus, wonderful to see you!" he boomed, smiling broadly.

Snape wondered whether it hadn't been the man's congeniality that put him in office rather than ability, not that he had objection to Shacklebolt's abilities.

The Minister, dressed in yellow and brown leopard print robes, waved them in with one hand while indicating with his other hand at a sullen looking man whose bushy black hair appeared uncombed and his thick mustache untrimmed. He had the look of a squat Aztec warrior dressed in semi-modern green robes.

"Severus, I'd like you to meet Jose Humberto Gutierrez De La Cruz. He's from Mexico."

_You don't say? Like I wouldn't have divined that from his name and figure?_ Snape extended a hand and the shorter man stood up to grasp it. Automatically he locked eyes with De La Cruz and he sensed something he hadn't felt since the dark lord's passing. It took only a moment to determine that what he felt was a complete absence of emotion or projected thought: the man was an accomplished Occlumens. For what purpose was he here?

Shacklebolt was prattling on again, cutting into Snape's ruminations. "Mr. De La Cruz is a skilled Legilimens. You people are hard to come by, let me tell you, especially when trying to find another expert who speaks English."

"What is your point, Minister?" asked Severus wearily. Praise was all well and good, but he'd rather be back at the castle. If Shacklebolt presumed that their shared talent would lead to an instant bond, he'd be sorely disappointed. If anything, they'd be on guard all the more.

"We've brought him in to probe Percy Weasley's mind," beamed Shacklebolt. He looked like he fully expected Snape to jump for joy.

Severus' fragile grip on civility snapped. He'd agreed to assist Percy out of the goodness of his heart which, contrary to the speculation of his naysayers, he did possess. And what did they do in return? Bring in someone else to usurp his position while flaunting it in his face! But then, why should this be any different from the treatment he received for all his years of protecting the Boy-Who-Lived-to-be-a-Muggle-Studies-teacher-out-of-spite-in-a-cruel-attempt-to-drive-Snape-mad?

Whirling back to the door, he threw his cloak over his shoulders as he muttered through the venom coating his mouth, "Since you already have a Legilimens, evidently you won't be needing me. Thank you for wasting my time, but I have work to do." He pushed Arthur aside and stormed out.

Recovering from his shock, Arthur ran after him shouting, "Severus, wait!" He caught up with the Headmaster before he'd made it to the lift, and with a forcible yank on his arm caused Snape to spin around. "This wasn't my idea, the Ministry demanded confirmation."

Severus merely stared him down with empty black orbs that emanated malevolence. If Arthur didn't know better, he'd swear Snape was _pouting_!

"Please, Severus. I know you and I haven't been the best of friends, but Molly always saw the good in you. I—we—trust you with Percy. Please help him."

"Pray tell, what is Mr. De La Cruz doing here if _I_ am to read Percy?" Severus cocked an eyebrow and waited.

"To avoid any appearance of impropriety, the Wizengamot decided there must be two independent readings. You'll both report what you see, they'll compare the two readings and make their decision," explained Arthur.

"Why is it that whenever I am involved, the Wizengamot feels it necessary to use the most stringent methods?" said Severus quietly, bitterly. He'd still not quite gotten over the pensieve incident of a panel viewing his memories and reporting what they found to the _Daily Prophet._ As far as they were publicly concerned he'd been cleared, yet in the back of their minds he would always be suspect because he'd been foolish enough to take the Dark Mark.

"I don't know. All I know is that if you refuse to use Legilimency on Percy, they'll send him back to Azkaban for good." A tear perched in the corner of his eye slid down his cheek. "I don't believe that's the kind of man you are."

Severus heaved a martyr-like sigh. "Alright, let's go."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Percy, focus on the last thing you recall of that day," instructed Snape as he gazed into the tired, frightened blue eyes.

"I don't remember anything of it!" wailed Percy.

"Then concentrate on the first thing you do remember—when the aurors came upon you."

Images of faces flicked about in a disjointed muddle; apparently he'd only just come to his senses. Severus observed the interaction, then moved back, trying to find the beginning of the memory, only to stall out like hitting a wall at the point where Percy was getting up off the ground and looking around in bewilderment. When he pushed harder at the edges of the memory, causing Percy to cry out sharply in pain, he quickly withdrew and began a scan of random memories here and there. He detected no blocks, nothing irregular except on that one day.

Severus broke the link and stood up from his crouch in front of Percy. The young man leaned back in his chair, exhausted and weeping. To the Minister and the group from the Wizengamot gathered about the room he said simply, "He's been _obliviated_. A memory charm distorts perception, but it leaves traces of recollection. This is much more insidious. To rupture the _obliviation_ would yield his true memories while destroying his mind in the process. I will not do so."

"Are you certain he's not using Occlumency to block you?" inquired a witch.

Severus half-sneered, half-smiled at how laughable the idea was. "Madame, I'm adept at telling the difference between a hidden thought and an entombed memory." He almost snorted in disgust. Of course they questioned his conclusion; if they actually believed him and trusted him, they wouldn't have another Legilimens waiting in the wings, would they? "If that's all you require, I'll wait outside for your verdict."

Half an hour later the Legilimens from Mexico came through the door. He looked at Snape and said, "Ees _obliviation_, no? I see no-ting he ees hiding."

"That's what _I_ said!" exclaimed Snape, feeling vindicated. For the first time he felt a twinge of rapport with the man.

He had no time to revel in his smugness, for Arthur came barreling through the door and flung his arms around the horrified, hapless Snape. "Thank you, Severus, you did it! Percy's going to be cleared of any involvement!" He glanced over at the other man. "Thank you, Mr. De La Cruz."

With some effort Severus peeled Arthur off him. "I'm pleased to hear it. Have they yet investigated Percy's purported signature for the boat?"

Arthur's head bobbed up and down with frantic joy. "They did that before; they said it didn't match, but they didn't care because he was lying. Now they'll have to search for the real culprit!"

A genuine smile touched Severus' face. He really was happy for Percy. And this validated his suspicion that someone—probably Rabastan—had used Polyjuice potion to impersonate him. Now that Percy was free, Snape considered his part in this over. He'd not tell them about Rabastan, that was their job to figure it out. And if they couldn't, they didn't deserve to arrest him…besides, he kind of liked Rodolphus and Rabastan…in an ex-comrades in arms kind of way.


	20. A Cruel Life

Death Eater No More—Chapter Twenty (A Cruel Life)

"Can't I have a wand?" implored Macnair. "You're sending me into the lion's den unarmed!" He appeared as if he wanted to cry.

"Don't be so melodramatic," chided Lucius as he looked the other wizard over with a business-like air, nodding to himself at the fresh haircut and close shave that had taken Macnair's prized mustache. "I'm not exactly stocked up on extra wands, and where you're going you won't need one. Steady use of magic there would bring aurors down on you to study the cause."

Macnair set his jaw and glared at the man purported to be his friend. No _true_ friend would do this to him! If he'd been able to access a public place he likely could have nicked a wand…unless he were recognized, which was highly probable with all the flyers about. Without some kind of illusion charm he didn't stand a chance of stealing a wand—and he couldn't do such a charm without a wand! And _Malfoy_—nasty, arrogant prat that he was—had refused to glamour him, opting instead to _assist_ him by forcing him to live among apes where wizards would never search for him!

"I hate you, Malfoy," he grunted for the twenty-seventh time.

For the twenty-seventh time Lucius smirked. "You'll thank me later when the heat dies down and you're free to return to civilization. Meanwhile, buck up. Purebloods can endure anything; we endured the dark lord and Azkaban, didn't we? This can't conceivably be any worse…not much, anyway." Unable to contain himself, he snickered evilly.

Lucius took a firm grip on Macnair's arm and led him to the door. As soon as they were outside, he apparated them to a location far from anyone or anywhere Macnair had ever seen. The area was flat with a hard black substance coating the earth, and strange metal carriages lined up in rows on either side of them. In short, they'd appeared in a car park. Macnair nearly fainted at the sight; while he'd been to Muggle places before, he'd been the one in control then.

Lucius eyed the market in front of them with distaste. It was really the only Muggle establishment he had any familiarity with. The first time he'd come here had been on Lord Voldemort's order as a test, when he'd been given a list and directed to bring back assorted food items from it, among them Cheetos, peanut butter, and Oreos. The second time had been a couple of years later when Narcissa was pregnant and demanding the Oreos he'd been foolish enough to tell her about. Never had he dreamed he'd set foot in this godforsaken place again!

Macnair gaped around like a simpleton. What were these metal carriages that swallowed their passengers and moved off magically? He'd seen them a few times in passing while on missions for the dark lord, but how did they move? Muggles didn't have magic! Lucius dragged him along, grinning at the shock on the man's face when the door to the grocery opened for them.

"Did you do that?" Macnair gasped. He didn't see Lucius' wand.

"No, just Muggle technology," answered Lucius, feeling very superior and knowledgeable. "They also have whole sections of the store that they keep frozen," he added smugly, right before realizing he was glorifying…ugh—_them_! He felt an strange desire to wash his mouth out with soap.

He glanced around for someone wearing an apron, preferably someone who looked like they had authority. Failing that, he kept a grip on Macnair as he started to wander, lest the poor bloke lose heart and disapparate. If he were to escape now, he'd surely be caught by aurors, and Lucius' part in aiding and abetting him would be revealed.

"I remember you!" shrieked a woman's shrill voice loud enough to deafen anyone in the near vicinity.

It sounded vaguely familiar, causing Lucius to cringe as he turned cautiously. Barreling toward him was a slightly overweight woman in her mid-thirties, grinning madly. To his horror, he _did_ know the voice—the teenaged nymphomaniac who'd tried to seduce him twice! On the apron plastered across her now-ample chest was a tag that read _Manager_. Suddenly this trip with Macnair lost a great deal of its appeal, primarily because _he_ was now the one who felt panicked.

Composing himself as befit a Malfoy, he smiled politely. "What a…surprise to see you."

"I'd recognize that gorgeous hair and odd clothes of yours anywhere," gushed the woman. At the moment she was studying a petrified Macnair. "Your friend dresses peculiar like you. Are you two in the theatre?"

Presuming an answer of 'yes' would divert the woman's attention from their attire, Lucius said, "Yes. However, my friend here needs a paying job and we wondered if there happened to be a position available."

"Maybe," said the woman. Her eyes fairly devoured Macnair, who only marginally resisted the urge to shove her away from him. "He looks muscular. Our butcher up and quit last week, we could use a strong man in the back."

At the word 'butcher', Macnair perked up. Perhaps this wouldn't be completely horrendous after all. "What do I get to butcher?" he asked.

"Oh, beef, chicken, fish, lamb—the usual," she replied. "Have you experience in this area?"

"Oh, yeah, loads of it," responded Macnair confidently.

Though the prospect of watching Macnair suffer for his dreadful display of friendship when the dark lord was alive did resonate with Lucius, he wasn't a cruel man, not really. He hated to see Macnair get his expectations too high only to have them dashed. He leaned in to whisper, "I don't believe you get to _kill_ the animals, just cut them up."

Macnair's features clouded somewhat. "Oh. It's better than nothing, I guess."

"Wonderful!" exclaimed the manager. "Let's go in my office and fill out the paperwork—"

"What for?" interrupted Macnair.

"Why—so you can get paid. What did you say your name was?"

"Walden Macnair," he blurted before recalling he was supposed to use an alias. But then again, these were only Muggles! They weren't after him, they didn't know him or his name. He sneered over at Lucius, who was sending him a disapproving pout.

"My name is August," the woman chattered away to Lucius as they walked through the store. "Now I see why you weren't interested in me all those years ago. Obviously you fancy your _friend_, but that's alright. He is quite a looker."

Partly because he was scarcely listening and partly because the shot came out of nowhere, the insinuation didn't register for a second; then Lucius flushed to the roots of his hair while Macnair guffawed at his embarrassment. He gasped aloud with indignation. "For your information, Macnair is _not_ my friend! That is, he's my friend, but not that kind of friend."

"Oh, I'm not judging you," August blinked in surprise.

"I've been married to a beautiful woman for twenty-four years, and she's currently pregnant with my second child."

Macnair nudged him in the ribs. "I don't think she wants your life history."

They entered a small room in the back with a desk and some filing cabinets, and within minutes had completed the application with a fair bit of fudged information and passed it to August, who extended a hand to Macnair. He stared at it as if it were a venomous snake poised to strike.

"Not the type to shake hands, eh? Is that your religion?"

"More or less," muttered Macnair. "I need to go find a place to live nearby. Can I start work tomorrow?"

"That will be fine, eight o'clock sharp. I hear there's some decent flats a few blocks down to the west," offered August. She winked at the men and licked her lips as she watched their hind ends leaving.

A moment later Lucius popped back in, to her great delight. "Do you think I might get some of those Oreos while I'm here? My _wife_ will probably crave them again since she's _pregnant_, and I'd just as soon not stoop to patronizing this Muggle establishment on a regular basis."

"Sure, just take them to the resister."

"Why didn't I think of that?" he drawled sarcastically. "Perhaps I ought to clarify that I don't habitually carry worthless currency around with me."

August looked stupidly at him. "So you don't have any money?"

"Bravo." Lucius stopped short of actually applauding the labor involved in piecing together that brilliant conclusion.

The manager flashed him another smile of her crooked teeth. "Don't worry about it. Come on." She led him out and down the cookie aisle with Macnair trailing along gawking at the Muggles with a fierce scowl. "We'll take the cost out of your _friend's_ first paycheck."

As they were walking out the front door, Lucius loaded down with a sack stuffed with bags of Oreos, Macnair noted August still watching them from afar. He smirked, grasped Lucius' free hand in a vise-like grip, and pulled the wizard in to plant a brazen kiss on his cheek, to Malfoy's utter discombobulation.

"What the f—k are you doing!" Lucius hissed, trying to jerk free.

"Putting on a show for my Muggle boss," Macnair replied flippantly. "Wouldn't want her to get the idea I'm available, would I?"

Lucius yanked his hand away and balled his fist. "Do that again and die."

"It might be preferable to working here," rejoined the other. "Oh joy, now I get to look for a flat so I can not only work among sub-humans, I can live with them, too. I love you, Lucius." His dark eyes glowered malevolently.

"You could always go back to Azkaban if you're so keen to live among wizards," said Lucius coldly. "It may be disgusting, but at least you'll have a life here. In a year or so they'll likely stop actively searching for Death Eaters and you can come back. In case you didn't notice, I'm putting my arse on the line here by helping you, so you'd better not screw it up."

"Why can't I just move to another country?" whined Macnair.

"No job, no family, nowhere to live, no money for food," Lucius ticked off on his fingers. "Other than that, no wand, and the probability of being recognized from the thousands of wanted posters, I don't see a problem with it."

"I hate you, Malfoy."

"Good. Flats are that way, let's go."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Unlike first and second year, when most students at Hogwarts shared classes with their housemates, a variety of schedules in the upper levels caused classes to consist of members of all four Houses, many of whom clung to their own little groups for the security and familiarity they offered.

Bayly, who'd never truly felt a part of his House and who didn't understand the need for balkanizing students into opposing factions, walked in and sat down beside Ginny Weasley. He noted a small table beside the teacher's desk that was covered with a sheet.

"Hey, Ginny," he greeted.

"Hi, Bayly. Did you do your homework?"

He produced a long sheet of parchment and presented it to her. _Similarities and Differences Between Wizards and Muggles,_ it read at the top. "Professor Granger said to write everything we know, so I did."

Ginny was now busy scanning his paper, her lips quirking every so often into a light smile. "Uh, Bayly…I don't think most Muggles live in mud huts. And they don't kill their 'pack mates' when they get sick."

"Are you sure?" asked Bayly skeptically. "My mum and Dol—dad told me stuff."

"I think that was the purpose of the essay—so Professors Granger and Potter can see what we already know and what they need to teach or correct," said Ginny with a shrug. "So far we've done a lot of Muggle technology and vocabulary, but so many just don't get it."

"Are you calling me stupid?"

"No! I'm saying it's hard for all of us who never saw the Muggle world. Wouldn't it be incredible if we could go on a field trip to their world?" Ginny squealed.

From behind her Luna murmured, "It would be most informative and fascinating." She laid her books on the table and sat down on the other side of Ginny. "Hello, Bayly."

"Hi, Luna. I don't know about a field trip. Lots of kids wouldn't go either because of prejudice or because their parents would pitch a fit." He shuddered inwardly. While his mother would only scold him for such a taboo exploit, his father would pound him senseless, and he knew for a fact he wasn't the only one. Slytherins in particular were disinclined to explore beyond their comfortable boundaries, or to allow their offspring such freedom.

Harry entered the room calling out, "Take out the essays Professor Granger assigned." There was a flurry of movement as students did as they were directed; a flick of his wand sent the whole parcel of them to the front of the room to land willy-nilly on the desk. He'd straighten it up later.

Almost rushing right over top of him, Hermione ran in smiling apologetically. "I'm sorry I'm tardy. Professor Snape had such an interesting lecture, and I had to ask him some questions after class. You know how he doesn't like it when I talk too much in class."

"No, I never noticed that," smirked Harry.

Hermione gave him a withering look. "Good morning, everyone. Today Professor Potter and I have decided to arrange a simulation for you. You're going to learn how to use a telephone." She yanked the sheet off the side table where lay phones ranging from old crank style to dial up to push button to mobile phones.

Luna, her blue eyes wide with anticipation, looked to Ginny and Bayly and nodded. Bayly smiled at her and winked. It may not be a field trip, but it did constitute actual Muggle implements!

From his vantage point at the front of the room, Harry saw Bayly wink at Ginny and his jaw clenched instinctively. "Eyes up front," he ordered.

"You're all familiar with two-way mirrors and the floo network for communication, I'm sure. Well, telephones can be just as useful as those methods, and even better," stated Hermione.

A few students rolled their eyes, others snorted their disagreement.

Hermione continued without bothering to acknowledge them. "With the telephone, you can communicate with more than one person, you can call thousands—millions, even! And you don't have to be indoors where there is a fireplace." Now the students looked skeptical, but interested.

Hermione picked up two cell phones and handed one to Harry, who then moved to the opposite end of the room. She pushed several buttons, which to most of the students looked like nothing more than jabbing her finger at the small black stone-like thing. Suddenly there was a ringing sound coming from Harry; he flipped the top open and answered.

"Hello, Hermione."

Hermione brought the phone over to the first table and instructed the three pupils to huddle in close, then when Potter began to chat to them they screamed and leaped back in shock and excitement. Harry took his phone to the back of the room where two Slytherins sat not knowing how they ought to act. He put the phone between them to let them hear the voices from the front row coming out of the box in his hand. One of the Slytherins began to laugh uncontrollably, the other seemed too stunned to do more than grin in amazement.

"Before we teach you to use the telephone, I'd like to go over a short history of the phone," Hermione explained, indicating the front table. She closed her mobile phone and Harry did the same. "If you'd all gather round up here, we'll begin."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"That went better than I ever dreamed!" Hermione gushed as she packed her assortment into a large box. "Did you see how interested and eager they were? Even the most anti-Muggle purebloods were having fun calling each other!"

"Yeah, it was great," Harry concurred. "We ought to give this lesson to all the levels."

"You're right, we should!" A swish of the witch's wand landed all the equipment right back onto the table.

"Hermione, can I ask you something? Do you think…er…do you think Ginny likes Bayly Young?"

The young woman stopped what she was doing to whirl around and gape at him. "Harry, why would you say that? You and Ginny got back together this summer, and I know she was very glad of it."

"I saw him wink at her, and she was smiling," the young man confessed.

"Are you sure he was winking and didn't have something in his eye? And Luna was at their table, too, maybe he was winking at her."

Harry shrugged, nodding sheepishly. "I guess he could've been. Ever since Ginny agreed to take me back after I dumped her without an explanation, I'm afraid she doesn't feel the same and she'll hurt me to get even."

The other rolled her eyes and sighed impatiently. Boys! "Aside from the fact that you're being paranoid, I don't think you have to worry about that. If Ginny decides to discard you, she'll tell you. Don't you have a Divinations class now?"

"Cripes, I forgot!" Harry bolted for the door shouting, "Thanks, Hermione!"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Bayly arrived in his dormitory to find his owl tapping on the window with its beak. He let it in and groaned when he saw the note attached to its leg. He stripped it off.

_Bayly, come home, we need to talk._

It was unsigned, meaning Dolohov was the one who'd sent it. Bayly ripped it into shreds and flung it in the trashcan. He considered ignoring the order, but in the scheme of things that seemed a bad idea; when he _did_ go home for the holidays, he'd pay dearly. He surmised the reason for this meeting, and he was in no wise anxious for the confrontation. But what else could it be? If anything had happened to mum, surely the Headmaster would know…unless Dolohov didn't inform him.

A niggling doubt gnawing at his gut told him he should go. Self-preservation agreed. Checking to see that his wand was still in his wrist carrier, he stalked through the dorm and common room, all the way to the front exit, his unwavering gait indicating to anyone who may be watching that he had a purpose and wasn't merely sneaking out. Come to think of it, Ginny had mentioned that her brothers knew of many secret passages and exits, he'd need to pump her for information for future reference.

As soon as he was off Hogwarts grounds he disapparated. Feeling more than a little trepidation he climbed the stairs and paused at the back door, where his reflection in the glass pane starkly portrayed his worried features. He gulped back the stomach that bounced into his throat at seeing his Ravenclaw tie wound precisely around his neck as always—habit from Durmstrang where slovenliness was not tolerated. He hurriedly untied it, ripped it off, and stuffed it into his pocket. He'd already entered the house when he remembered the crest on his robe, which he rapidly transfigured to that of Slytherin.

He walked through the kitchen into the living room where Dolohov sat in an armchair in front of a fire. Bowing slightly, he said, "Hello, sir. You owled me to come."

"Get over here so I don't have to twist around to look at you," commanded his father.

Bayly circled the chair to stand beside the fireplace. "Where's mum?"

"Where is she always at this time? At work."

The boy let out a relieved breath; mum was alright.

"Well?" demanded Dolohov.

"Well what?"

"Why haven't I heard anything about your mission? It's been almost two months!"

Bayly took a nervous step backward. "I'm trying, honest I am. I even got myself two weeks detention with Snape to spy on him, but he never goes anywhere and he doesn't talk about himself." The heat from the fireplace made him break out in a sweat.

"What'd you get detention for?"

"Dueling. I hurt some kid pretty bad."

To Bayly's dismay, Dolohov smiled, chuckled even. "That's my boy! What spell did you use?"

"_Infligo damnum._"

"Nice choice," said the man, nodding affably. "I made it up myself, you know."

"Yes, sir, you told me." He wiped off a trickle of sweat trailing down his temple. _Please don't let him find out I told Snape about the spell!_

All of a sudden Dolohov's approval dimmed, his twisted face contorted into suspicion. "If you injured a student that bad, how come they didn't notify us from the school? Are you lying to me, boy? Because if you are—"

"No, sir, I'm not! His name's Gerald Loughlin, he was in the infirmary for days, and taking a ton of potions for weeks after," Bayly insisted. Unable to bear the heat anymore, he slipped off his outer robe and tossed it in a heap in the corner. "Maybe they told mum, I don't know."

His eyes mere slits, Dolohov continued to study his son, then he shrugged. Almost as if speaking to himself he mused, "That would explain your mother acting guilty some weeks back. She said the owl was about a trip to Hogsmeade, but she was probably covering up for you, afraid I'd be cross with you."

"Are you?" asked the lad in a strained voice.

"Why would I be? Kid deserved it, I'm sure." His scrutiny hadn't left off his son. "Come here, Bayly."

The boy reluctantly moved to within arm's reach, heart pounding like a jackhammer. Dolohov bent forward and snatched at the bit of blue and bronze fabric poking from Bayly's trouser pocket. He held up the tie in consternation as a squeak escaped Bayly and he lurched away from the man.

"What the hell is this?" thundered his father. The eyes that had moments ago been slits now popped from their sockets. "You said you were in Slytherin!"

"I am!" Bayly cried, taking a quick step forward to grab the tie back. "This…b-belongs to a girl." He looked down, chewing his lip in anguished horror. That wasn't even a good lie! He'd done it, he'd been discovered and now the bastard would kill him for sure!

Taking the boy's posture for embarrassment at being caught with evidence of a tryst, Dolohov began to laugh. "Next time it'll be her knickers, eh?"

Bayly managed a weak grin. "Well, I ought to be getting back."

"Not so fast. What're you planning to do about Snape?"

There was a moment's pause. He had no idea in the world what he was supposed to do. "I don't know. He found me eavesdropping on him and another teacher, and he threatened me not to do it again."

"Then it looks like you're gonna have to bring me into Hogwarts to talk to him," smiled Dolohov wickedly, truly relishing the thought. "He won't be expecting an attack when I'm under a glamour charm."

"You can't!" Bayly shouted, not intending to be so forceful. To the incredulous expression aimed his way he shakily explained, "There are aurors stationed around the school for safety, they run counter-glamour charms on everyone coming in. They'd recognize you."

Dolohov swore aloud. "Figures Snape would pull a stunt like that!"

Bayly nodded as he prayed fervently that his newest lie wouldn't be found out. If his father realized how easily he could waltz right into Hogwarts, Snape would be dead within a week!

The man uttered another string of expletives as he heaved himself out of the chair. "Come on outside, I want to teach you some more curses."

"I-I really should go—"

He was cut off by a backhand to the mouth that split both lips at once. "You really should do what I tell you unless you want my belt across your arse teaching you to keep your smart mouth shut!" Dolohov barked back.

"Sorry, sir." Bayly pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket to hold against the injured lips, to stem the flow of blood seeping onto his chin. Ever since meeting his father a few years ago, he wished he had been taught healing spells. Not daring to speak again, he followed his father out into the yard where the cool air made him shiver.

Dolohov pointed at a large rock twenty meters away. "If you have to ambush Snape, you'll want to do it from a distance."

"Me?" squeaked Bayly.

"I told you, son—if you can't bring Snape to me or me to Snape, it'll be up to you to finish him off. Now pay attention…"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

An hour later Bayly came trudging up to Hogwarts grounds carrying his outer robe, his bloody handkerchief stashed in his pocket. His unfortunate incapacity to kill at will, or even to pretend normalcy when confronted with the possibility of such action, had caused him to lose focus with the new spells. As a consequence, Dolohov had raged at him until the poor boy was a pitiful trembling bundle of nerves, at which point Bayly had screamed an obscenity suggesting his father commit a vile (and impossible) act upon himself.

He'd immediately regretted his disrespect when a _crucio_ sent him rolling and writhing on the ground, followed by the promised thrashing with the man's belt for impertinence.

Now, shuffling slowly along the corridor towards his dormitory, trying not to make any unnecessary moves that would result in pain, he wasn't sorry he'd said it. He was sorry he'd been punished, but that was as far as it went.

He was supposed to corner Snape, catch him unawares and use the killing curse on him, but not in his wildest nightmares could Bayly see himself agreeing to that. And if he DID, who's to say Snape wouldn't be the one to end up killing him instead? Snape hadn't beaten him—not yet, anyway; he hadn't tortured him, he hadn't done anything worthy of retaliation, and certainly not worthy of death. Bayly had no desire to kill anyone, but if the choice came down to murdering either Snape or Dolohov, he knew which one it _wouldn't_ be.


	21. Halloween

Death Eater No More—Chapter Twenty-One (Halloween)

Defense Against the Dark Arts class had been moved to this evening, which alone was enough to pique the students' curiosity. Since everyone _knew_ with unwavering certainty that Snape had no life outside of Hogwarts now that Lord Voldemort had been vanquished, it remained a mystery as to what he'd been doing during the normal class time.

Excited students still chattered over yesterday's lesson in Muggle Studies; a few adventurous pupils had even pledged to sneak out and find one of those Muggle mobile phones—until a Muggleborn drolly informed them that it wouldn't work unless it was paid for and signed up to a network, which went right over their heads. Yet another topic for Professor Granger to tackle.

Bayly arrived at the same time as Professor Snape outside the classroom, meaning in effect that he was late, as evidenced by the sour expression projected his way. Students were to be in their seats and ready to learn when the teacher made his appearance, that point had been stressed heavily first class of the year. He increased his pace to an all-out dash in a futile attempt to slip in ahead of Snape.

Severus deftly caught the arm of the boy, swung him around, and growled in his ear, "You missed my class yesterday, Mr. Young."

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't feel well," answered Bayly, suddenly studying the floor as if he found it fascinating.

Snape's fingers grasped the boy's chin to lift it up, and if he were the type to react with outward signs he might have done more than blink at the sight of Bayly's puffed and semi-healed lips. In a heartbeat his wand was in his hand; when he lifted it, Bayly sucked in a frightened breath as he struggled to be free.

"I'm sorry, I won't be late again!"

"Quiet." Severus held the lad's chin in a firm grip as he ran the wand along each lip while muttering an incantation under his breath. The wounds sealed over, the swelling diminished rapidly, and the pain receded to nothing.

When he'd finished, Bayly reached up tentatively to touch his lips, then he broke into a smile that didn't hurt one bit. "Thank you, Professor! Do you think you could teach me that?"

"I could teach it, it would be up to you to learn it," replied Severus. A student _asking_ to learn rather than being dragged kicking and screaming into a morsel of knowledge—when was the last time that had happened…excluding the know-it-all Granger, of course? His scrutinizing gaze hadn't left the boy's countenance. "Were you fighting again?"

Bayly shook his head as his face sought the floor again. "No, sir. I…fell."

"I've never known anyone to fall on their mouth," commented Severus. He didn't truly expect Bayly to admit if he was fighting, if for no other reason than fear of punishment. He'd not seen any other student with injuries, nor heard of any fight, but it was entirely possible the boy had been waylaid, or set upon by a group of students as Severus so often had been. Whatever the scenario, he obviously didn't wish to discuss it. "Be advised, Mr. Young, that bullying will not be tolerated while I am Headmaster."

"I didn't bully anyone!" Bayly protested.

"Did I accuse you?"

"No, sir."

"Let me rephrase my statement. If there is a person or persons bothering you, you needn't hesitate to approach me. That said, see me after class and I'll teach you this healing spell. Go take your seat."

Severus waited until Bayly was situated before he swept into the room in his typical grand entrance, his loose robes billowing just so. Pity the brats would never know the amount of practice it had taken him to perfect that walk!

He strode up to the front of the room and did a dramatic whirl. "Students, I've invited guest lecturers for today's lesson. You will behave as befits one of my pupils or suffer dire consequences." Not one pupil dared ask what those consequences might be, rightly determining it best never to find out.

A timid hand went up, waited to be acknowledged with a frustrated nod, then the girl ventured with just a hint too much hopeful expectation, "Is it Gilderoy Lockhart? Is he well now?"

"No," scowled Snape. "He's even more insane than he was when he affected the air of a teacher here at Hogwarts." _Idiot Hufflepuff._ "Before any more of you get it into your skulls to ask foolish questions, I shall introduce our guests, Mateo and Tonia."

From the shadows at the back of the room the two glided forward, their hands clasped together, their gait so smooth they appeared almost to be floating. Tonia's long brown curls and dark eyes made a beautiful contrast to Mateo's short blond locks and pale blue eyes. Even their mode of dress differed greatly: whereas Mateo favored Muggle jeans and a black T-shirt, Tonia looked like a throwback to the nineteenth century with her aristocratic riding breeches and ruffled white shirt.

All heads turned, mouths went slack as the teenagers fell prey to the vampires' natural powers of seduction working their wiles. Of course, it didn't hurt that both of the pair were undeniably attractive with or without seductive powers. They stopped at the front of the room to greet Severus, then turned to the students and smiled broadly.

At the sight of their fangs, a girl in the front row screamed; several others gasped and lurched back in their chairs. If Snape had harbored any doubt of waning interest, his fears were put to rest. He'd have to ask Mateo later if he had a secret for inspiring such panic, an admirable quality indeed.

In a dry tone Severus said, "As you may have noticed, Tonia and Mateo are vampires, hence the need to hold class at night. They have generously agreed to come speak with you and answer any questions you have. I advise you to pay close attention, as I'll require a two-foot parchment from each of you on tonight's lesson." Astoundingly, no one groaned at the assignment. He gestured for the couple to take over and he faded back to the wall.

"Hello," said Mateo. He cocked his head and glanced at the starkly white face of the girl in front of him. "Are you sure you aren't a vampire, missy? You look right bloodless." Many of the students snickered quietly, nervously. "Don't worry, we fed before we came."

Tonia elbowed him in the side. "Mateo means we are not going to bite you." Her English, learned from Mateo over the past eighteen years, held a light Spanish accent, though her speech flowed nicely.

"We won't bite you unless you get really irritating," Mateo clarified, grinning over at Tonia. "And then it would be purely from spite, since we need to feed only once a week. But we won't _kill_ you." Tonia's twitching eyelid told him he'd best move on. "Anyhow, we belong to the largest cult in Spain, headed by Yadiro Buitrago." The name rolled off his tongue, pronounced the Spanish way. He may be speaking English, but Yadiro took great pride in his name.

A boy's hand shot up. "If you're Spanish, how come you don't have an accent?"

"My grandmother was British, so my mother spoke English and she taught it to me growing up," explained Mateo.

"How old are you?" asked the pallid girl in the front row.

"I was born in the year of our Lord 1654. You figure it out," he smirked.

Clive Fields, the Gryffindor who'd asked about the accent, now addressed Tonia with infatuated, adoring gazes. "How old are you?"

"One hundred thirty-nine," she replied pleasantly. "I was twenty-one when I was brought into the fold."

"Vampires retain whatever age they were when turned," added Mateo. "Thus, my wife will always be lovely and young." He smiled over at her, to the deflated looks of many of the boys who evidently thought they stood a chance with the _sangrista_.

A Slytherin boy who'd rapidly calculated that Mateo was at least two hundred years older than Tonia, and therefore must have been a vampire before she was even born, scoffed, "Vampires can't get married."

In the space of an instant Mateo had traversed the room and was upon him, eyes flashing malevolently. Normally easy going, he had one great weakness: Tonia. Tonia had been forced to play whore for five years for the vampire who kidnapped her as a human teenager, before he'd decided to turn her. She'd put that life and those terrible memories behind her, Mateo would have nobody insinuate she was Mateo's concubine! No one—_no one_—insulted his woman or hinted she might be less than his perfect wife! He didn't notice or care that all the humans were astounded at his speed and aghast at his vitriol.

"Tell that to the priest who witnessed our vows!" he hissed. One hand shot out, grabbed the shrieking boy by the front of his robes, and lifted him in the air as if he weighed no more than a baby.

Snape took a single step forward, his wand at ready. The dark lord had invented a spell to kill vampires, which he'd taught to Lucius many years ago, who in turn had showed Snape. While he'd likely try another spell first, if necessary he'd have to protect his charges, and he really didn't look forward to using it, particularly not on Lucius' relative! "Mateo, I must ask you to refrain from terrorizing the students, as much as I empathize with your desire to do so."

Mateo dropped the trembling boy into his chair with a dismissive flick of his wrist. He looked down at him with a meaningful glare, then casually walked back up to the front of the room. Tonia, her lips set in a slight pout that made her even more captivating to the young men, whispered something in Spanish that caused Mateo to look vaguely ashamed.

"My apologies, Professor Snape," Mateo uttered. Notably he did not offer any apology to the teen.

"Do you know Sanguini?" asked a Ravenclaw girl. "He's a vampire, he was here a couple years ago for Professor Slughorn's party."

Suppressing an amused smile, Mateo responded, "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I don't know every other vampire in the world."

"Stupid question, Gloria!" laughed a Ravenclaw boy.

"Shut up, Warner!" she shot back at her housemate. To Tonia she asked, "Is it true vampires can fly?"

"Yes," said Tonia simply. With a light push she soared into the air and circled the tables below. Snape thought wryly how fortunate it was she wore breeches with those little perverts below watching.

"Did you know your instructor, Professor Snape, can also fly?" inquired Mateo, to the Headmaster's great discomfiture. "Our leader—"

"That will do," Severus interrupted. He sincerely did not want the students to find out Lord Voldemort, who'd taught him to fly, had learned it from Mateo's cult leader! "This lesson is not about me. Mr. Harper has observed your strength first hand, we've all seen how quickly you can move. Perhaps you could demonstrate your agility or your hypnotic ability."

"You mean like this?" Like a flash he was gone, then his voice rang out from above, "I'm up here!"

Everyone's attention turned to the dreadfully high ceiling to search for where Mateo was clutching onto a thick wooden beam. All at once he let go and came hurtling head first toward the floor, only to flip over at the last possible second to land gently on his feet with a tiny click of his boots. The students burst into spontaneous applause and he bowed, grinning. Tonia drifted down from the ceiling smiling proudly at her husband; rather than walk she hovered mere inches above the stones and floated up to him, palms outstretched to meet his, and kissed him on the lips.

"Please note my talented wife," Mateo crooned, his light blue eyes fixed on her brown orbs. "To float along like that is much harder than it looks, way harder than flying, and takes years to perfect. Till that time, you fall on your face a lot."

The students laughed along with him. Vampires weren't nearly as scary as they'd been led to believe! Even the Slytherin boy, Harper, showed no signs of fear now.

Luna raised her hand. "I'll volunteer to be hypnotized."

Mateo shrugged. "Alright, come up here."

Several other hands went up waving frantically, so the _sangristas_ invited the lot of them to the front. Tonia stared into Clive's eyes for a few seconds, then she whispered something to him. Clive straightened up, ran a hand over his smooth locks repeatedly as if trying to force unruly hair into submission, then trotted up the aisle to plunk himself down next to Ginny.

He snuggled up to her, seemingly indifferent to the fact that she was shoving very hard against him. "What is it, Ginny? Are you still mad that I defeated Voldemort without you?"

"What?" exclaimed Ginny, too flabbergasted to continue struggling.

"You don't have to envy me just because I'm a hero," blabbed Clive. He made a motion with his finger at the bridge of his nose like pushing back non-existent glasses. "And because I'm really exceptional at Quidditch."

"Oh, Lord!" moaned Snape. The dimwit thought he was Harry freaking Potter! "Tonia, I think we already see enough of the Boy Wonder. If you don't mind…"

Tonia nodded and glided over to Clive. "You are _not_ Harry Potter," she said.

Clive looked around, suddenly unsure how he got where he was or why everyone was laughing. He scurried back to his own table.

Mateo chose Luna, whom he stared at with such intensity it caused Tonia to inquire teasingly, "_Me quieres hacer celosa, mi amor?"_ (Do you want to make me jealous, love?)

"_No mas un poquito,"_ (Just a little) cooed Mateo. "_Te hace mas sensual."_ (It makes you more sensual).

A Slytherin girl, Saturnina Reynoso, tittered at the exchange. Tonia looked at her and asked, "_Hablas espanol?"_ (Do you speak Spanish?)

"_Claro que si,"_ (Of course) returned Saturnina, smirking.

To Snape's discomfort, he noted Mateo paying him a bit too much attention and grinning like the cat who ate the canary. That couldn't be good; he'd seen enough and heard enough from Lucius about this vampire's proclivity for embarrassing mischief.

"You are the teacher in this class," Mateo declared to Luna. "Take charge."

Luna shook her hair back from her face the way she'd seen Snape do a hundred times, then she pulled her robe tight around her as she crossed her arms over her chest and glowered very convincingly at the students who were out of their seats. Even her tone changed to a snide drawl, oddly tempered by her natural sweet disposition. "Did I give permission for you dunderheads to wander around the room like grazing gazelles? One hundred points from each of your Houses—and a pox of nargles on you, as well."

The students to whom she was speaking merely gaped in fascination at the blending of Luna's personality with Snape's.

"Did I stutter?" demanded Luna. "To your seats!" She took out her wand and pointed it menacingly, and the pupils bolted for their seats. Smiling a pleasant, dreamy, Luna-type smile, she said, "I'm glad I didn't have to transfigure you into squid bait. That wouldn't have been very nice at all." She paused thoughtfully. "Although I _will_ reduce to compost anyone who so much as utters a phrase involving _greasy_, _bat_, or _git_."

In spite of himself Severus began to snicker quietly, the laughter bubbling up from his chest so forcefully he had to turn to the wall lest the group of nincompoops witness him _enjoying_ this debacle. After all, it wasn't as if Lovegood was portraying him accurately; Merlin's beard, the poor girl couldn't pull off a decent sneer to save her life! And her ruthless qualities were sorely lacking. He had to admit her threats were rather creative, albeit in a far different league from his own.

The Gryffindor named Clive, smiling smugly, braved a question. "Um, Professor Snape—Lovegood, we were studying vampires. How do you kill a vampire?"

Luna stared him down with a deadpan face. "If I told you, you might take it upon yourself to utilize your uniquely Gryffindor blend of stupidity and bravado to attempt to murder our guests."

Clive flushed and threw himself back in his seat while the rest of the class burst into appreciative cackles. Severus stepped forward to catch Mateo's eye, and the latter said to Luna, "You are no longer the teacher. Go sit down. And as for how to kill a vampire, it would be very foolhardy of me to answer that, wouldn't it?"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

**October 31, 1998: Halloween Ball at Malfoy Manor**

As much as Lucius detested parties, had hated them from childhood because of the need to curry favor incessantly and watch his manners more so than the usual strict code of behavior, he'd agreed with Narcissa that this charity ball on Halloween could prove useful. Besides, forty years of pretending to like people and make them feel at ease shouldn't be wasted on mere personal sentiment, not when the resurgence of the Malfoy dignity was at stake.

Hence, his _new_ policy of covertly buying off everyone under the guise of benevolence in order to push the Malfoy name into the ring of acceptance where it belonged had superseded his _old_ policy of donating to hospitals, charities, and worthy causes to simply _further_ the Malfoy name and keep it in the spotlight. Negligible difference, one might say—unless one were fighting not only for oneself but for wife and son and unborn child to bring back a modicum of the respect they'd once enjoyed. To wage war against the stigma of being a Death Eater was no small undertaking, but Lucius had set his mind to the task and he would succeed…his family needed for him to succeed, and above all he couldn't let them down again.

With the weight of this responsibility draped firmly across his shoulders, he led Narcissa up the wide staircase of the ballroom, looking absolutely dapper and sophisticated in black silk trousers and a high-collared shirt trimmed in gold leaf filigree with a hint of orange to match Narcissa's stunning black gown with just a shimmer of orange, cinched under the breast to drape flatteringly over her baby bulge.

They surveyed the crowd milling below. For the most part they were purebloods, naturally, and Slytherins as well: these were old friends and acquaintances who nearly all had ties to Death Eaters in one way or another and who also sought ways to redeem their honor. There were, however, those who required pandering to—the St. Mungo's Hospital Board members. Lucius intended this ball not only to elicit donations for the hospital, but to bring esteem to the Malfoys, who made it all possible, and as such he'd spent the past hour sucking up to this set.

Lucius placed his wand to his throat. "May I have your attention." His voice boomed out through the room and heads turned to look up at the couple. "Thank you all for coming tonight; thank you even more for your generous contributions to a most deserving cause. I won't bore you with a long speech, I only wish to announce that your total benefaction amounts to 125,000 galleons!"

On the floor below, hundreds of people began to cheer wildly. The four Board members who'd followed the Malfoys up onto the balcony clapped as loudly as anyone, their faces beaming. So far, so good, Lucius smiled to himself. His enormous donation to Hogwarts a few months back and now this; one step at a time he'd reclaim his rightful place as a pillar of society.

Lucius held up his hand for silence, then turned focus over to Narcissa, who placed her wand delicately to her throat. "In accordance with the agreement my husband and I made between ourselves to match your gift, we Malfoys will donate an equivalent amount, raising the total to 250,000 galleons!"

Again the multitude went crazy. Everyone had naturally assumed the first number included the Malfoy pledge, too—although in truth few were surprised at the generosity, for Malfoys throughout the ages had been great benefactors. The Board members approached the Malfoys to shake their hands vehemently, and one asked to address the audience.

"My fellow witches and wizards, words cannot express the gratitude we from St. Mungo's feel right now. _Thank you_ is wholly inadequate but all we have, so—thank you! Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, your generosity is beyond all expectations. We offer our sincerest appreciation."

Lucius applauded along with the rest, then he motioned to the band in a corner downstairs and they began to play a lively, creepy tune in keeping with the date. He and Narcissa excused themselves to go down and mingle with the crowd. They were met at the bottom of the stairs by Severus—dressed to the nines in his finest black robes, coincidentally given to him as a Christmas present from the Malfoys—and his daughter Jacinta, his sister Justina, and brother Julius.

Lucius and Narcissa greeted him, then Narcissa smiled as she stepped in to hug the twins in a crushing embrace. "Goodness, how long has it been? Why are you two still living in Wales?"

Both of them grinned, but Justina said, "It's been too long, Narcissa. Miles—" She dragged her husband closer to them. "—and I are talking of moving back to England. Now that Voldemort is dead and most of his followers in jail, it's safe for us to return."

"That's wonderful, Tina!" sighed Narcissa. "We don't visit often enough. I've so missed seeing your children."

"Not for long," interjected Julius drolly, gesturing at her belly. "Once you have that baby, you won't have time for our kids."

"I always will!" Narcissa insisted. "Julius, are you moving back, too?"

The young man shrugged. "My wife is from Wales, she doesn't really want to leave."

"That means 'no'," said Severus dryly. His brother sneered back.

Narcissa bent in to embrace Jacinta, sighing again. "Now that you're all grown up you don't come by often anymore. Have you got a beau now?"

Jacinta rolled her eyes in the direction of Severus. "Daddy runs off any young men I bring home, and Papa encourages him! I'm going to be an old hag spinster."

"If you brought home a fellow worthy of consideration, I might approve of him," retorted Severus.

Lucius intervened before a full-fledged family argument could develop. "Severus, why don't you come with me, I had something I wanted to discuss with you. Let's leave Narcissa to sort out this motley crew." He winked at his wife and squeezed her hand before leading Severus to a secluded corner.

"Something on your mind, Lucius?"

"Actually, yes. Draco tells me you've made Muggle Studies mandatory for all students." Although Lucius waited politely for the confirmation, it was entirely unnecessary, for several couples had already lamented to him the fact that their children were being indoctrinated with toxic ideas at Hogwarts.

"Yes, I did," Severus affirmed, not backing down. "I fail to see why it interests you as you currently have no children at Hogwarts."

"It's a societal concern," answered Lucius. "Many purebloods have no desire to be contaminated with Muggle ideas or customs. If their children come to see Muggles as—God forbid—equals, what's to prevent them from marrying the beasts?"

The cold expression hardening into flint on Snape's face gave Lucius pause, and with a mortified intake of breath he remembered Severus' father was a Muggle. It was something he'd basically blocked out of his mind many years ago, something so easy to forget what with it being so shameful and with Severus being such an able, powerful wizard from the fine, pure Prince line.

"I'm sorry, I meant no offense," he apologized.

Snape glared at him with more than venom in his eyes…there was a tinge of hurt. After all these years Lucius couldn't get past that, could he? "Calling my father a beast shouldn't offend me? There is no way to circumvent the implication that I am also a beast by association. Pray tell, what do you consider offensive?"

"Severus, I—damn it, you know how I feel! You've been my best friend for twenty-odd years, I don't even think of you as a halfblood. To me you're a pureblood…I forget." He raised his light eyebrows and shrugged one shoulder, his bearing radiating true regret.

Severus wanted to be angry, he wanted to rail at the man for his insensitivity…yet he couldn't. This was Lucius Malfoy; if he didn't act like a prejudiced ass every once in a while, Snape would think someone had used Polyjuice potion to take over his estate. But yet, his irrational opinions needed to be addressed. "This illustrates brilliantly my whole point with Muggle Studies. There are a plethora of false impressions floating around the pureblood community, impressions that need to be squelched. Pureblood mania in large part was responsible for the war that damaged your family and your reputation, yet you cling to it like a gem."

"What would you have us do? Dilute our magic with Muggles until no purebloods are left alive?" exclaimed Lucius in disgust. "Eventually magic would die out when no true wizards existed anymore, only occasional Muggleborns who'd have no clue what to do with their magic because the keepers of the spells and customs are gone!"

Severus snorted. "That's an extreme case scenario, hardly probable. Even so, I'm not suggesting there is anything wrong with purebloods sticking together, I'm only saying respect should run both ways. There are plenty of Muggle inventions that dwarf magic—like airplanes and television! What is so wrong with acknowledging that Muggles are not animals? They're as intelligent as wizards, and at the risk of seriously pissing you off, maybe you ought to reconsider what you taught Draco! The ramifications of those ideals nearly got him killed!"

If it weren't for the band blaring in the background, there would be a stony silence between the men. This was not the first time they'd argued over pureblood notions, but each time they wrangled the tempers flared a bit hotter. Now they sliced dangerously close to home.

Despite the fact that he abhorred losing an argument, Lucius knew when to quit. Malfoy pride or no, he preferred a quiet withdrawal to irreparably damaging the only true, strong friendship he'd ever had (Narcissa aside, of course). He gave one of his feigned smiles that touched only his lips, and inclined his head slightly. "Out of consideration for our friendship, I suggest that we agree to disagree. I will never believe that Muggles are equal to wizards, or that they ought to mix, but I will concede that they are not animals."

"How very big of you," drawled Severus. "That must have been painful."

"Extremely," rejoined Lucius.

He glanced across the floor where Draco stood with a gaggle of his old school chums, all of them pureblood. What could possibly be wrong with the way he'd trained his son to honor his heritage? It wasn't as if he'd taught him to murder Muggles like some Death Eaters did with their children! Draco was perhaps a bit too arrogant at times but he was a _Malfoy_, for crying out loud, he had a right to be! Disdain versus murder—completely different! Weren't purebloods allowed to be proud of their heritage like everyone else?

And yet, Draco was reviled by the 'good people' of society just as Lucius was because of their Death Eater past. They needed to distance themselves from the images in people's minds, and foremost among those images was a strong belief in pureblood supremacy. If he raised his second child with these same concepts, would he (or she) find it hard to make his way in this new social order, being held back by contempt for their lessers? Would it be traitorous to his roots to teach the child tolerance for others along with their obvious superiority? Was it even possible for the views to co-exist?"

"Will you excuse me, Severus? I must see to my guests," murmured Lucius finally.

"Of course." Snape watched him walk off to greet another guest with a genial smile and a handshake. Strangely enough, unless he was deluding himself, Lucius was coming around slowly—ever _so slowly_. Ordinarily he didn't give up so easily, and certainly wouldn't have called for a truce. Maybe he was getting soft in his old age!

He pursed his lips and gazed out over the partygoers, pausing on Draco. The boy hadn't spoken two words to him except under duress since finding out he'd been a spy against Voldemort. They desperately needed to clear the air, but now wasn't the time, not when he had his friends around him—and was that Mateo? Damnation, yes it was! Draco was introducing the vampire to his enthusiastic gang! Severus smirked. He hoped Pansy didn't wet herself from excitement. Blaise Zabini, the boy who looked perpetually bored, had a reversal of expression tonight. Theodore Nott wore a goofy look reminiscent of his father, though he was substantially more intelligent. Gregory Goyle seemed impressed…and sulking; he kept glaring over at Draco as if the boy were still interested in Pansy, and Severus didn't really blame him. Draco was the type girls generally went for, not dull, unattractive men like Goyle. However, with how close Draco was standing to Daphne Greengrass, leaning in toward her, it should be evident even to Goyle that Draco had another girl on his mind.

Severus shook his head. If he ever got his godson alone to talk, maybe the kid would open up about his life like he used to do when they were dear to each other. He missed that.

The girl with brown hair cut bluntly across the back and banged in front took Draco's hand as she squealed to the group still reveling in meeting the vampire who'd already gone off seeking more mature company.

"Guess what? I was going to tell you before Mateo came over: I was walking past Professor Snape and I heard Jacinta Mulciber call him _Papa_!"

"Don't make things up, Daphne," answered Theodore.

"Really?" exclaimed Pansy at the same time, her exhilaration seemingly unbounded. "But she's a Mulciber…isn't she?"

"No," said Draco. Instantly all eyes were riveted on him. "She's Snape's kid, but Jack Mulciber raised her as his to protect her from the dark lord, evidently since Snape was afraid he might get caught spying."

"Yeah, right," muttered Blaise, crossing his arms. "Snape doesn't act like he's got a kid."

"Well he does," insisted Malfoy. "I grew up with her, Snape brought her here all the time."

Pansy and Daphne looked at each other, smiling conspiratorially. First finding out Draco was related to a real live vampire, and now _this_ juicy morsel about Professor Snape! Christmas had come early for the Slytherin girls, and come tomorrow the rumor mill would begin to turn with scalding hot gossip.


	22. Conspiracies Unravel

Death Eater No More—Chapter Twenty-Two (Conspiracies Unravel)

**November 7, 1998**

Minerva McGonagall's shrill, indignant voice bounced off the walls of Snape's office, "Severus Snape, are you insinuating that you _knew_ the Sorting Hat wasn't going to sort the students?"

Leaning back in his chair, gazing at the witch's positively, delightfully appalled expression, Severus deliberately crossed his arms in a slow movement designed to build anticipation. The corners of his mouth lifted in a trademark smirk. "Of course I knew, Minerva. Who do you think told the hat what to do?"

Utterly aghast, Minerva sputtered incoherently for a bit. Honestly, Snape feared she might be gearing up for a stroke. What was the hubbub about? It weren't as if he'd threatened to incinerate the old hat to get it to agree with him; the hat saw the problems of sorting quite clearly, as anyone capable of detached, rational observation should. He smirked again; that would leave out Minerva and any other Gryffindorks. Merlin's ghost, hadn't the crone—er, witch—learned anything from all her years as a teacher, from all the enmity sorting had caused? If her apoplectic face was any judge, she had not.

He would have argued his point with her had there not come a distracting knock on the door. Not likely a student up for a chat, as he wasn't foolish enough to encourage the brats to socialize with him like Dumbledore had. However, if one had need of his assistance as Headmaster, he'd welcome the interruption if it made Minerva go back to her lofty tower where she could pontificate to her little lions, who might actually give a rat's ass concerning her opinion on sorting.

"Enter."

The heavy door swung aside and Snape instantly regretted that one tiny word. Not only was the savior of the wizarding world grinning idiotically and charging in like a buffalo, he was dragging Neville Longbottom with him! Severus grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose to mitigate the headache he felt coming on. If it didn't seem completely…well, insane…he'd find out by personal experience how many times he could bang his head against the stone wall behind him before lapsing into a blessed unconsciousness free of Harry Potter and his cohorts.

Severus heaved a martyred sigh. "What is it, Potter? Did you find Mr. Longbottom skulking about the property and bring him in for a reprimand?"

"No, sir," answered Harry, looking surprised.

Snape rolled his eyes. Had the fiend forgotten how to recognize sarcasm? He'd managed well enough when he was an exasperating student! "Do tell, why are you here, Mr. Longbottom?"

"W-well, Professor, Harry and Hermione told me they wanted to take their N.E.W.T.S., and you were nice enough to give them a job—"

"First of all," Severus interrupted, "I am not _nice_. Miss Granger and Mr. Potter were awarded the post because no other applicant had anything remotely approaching acceptable credentials."

Here McGonagall found her voice. "Hermione and Harry are doing splendid work, Headmaster. All my students say so."

_I'm in Gryffindor hell_. Severus chose to ignore her. "Please do not tell me you're hoping I'll offer you a job, Mr. Longbottom. Assuming there were any positions available—which there are not—I don't deem you qualified to tag along with Mr. Filch cleaning toilets, let alone to conduct a room full of students."

Harry shouldered up next to Neville and gave Snape a…what was that? A friendly smile? "Professor, you can pretend to be mean all you want, but Neville's not looking for a paying job. He wants to take his N.E.W.T.S., and he figured it wouldn't hurt to re-take some of his classes."

_Some_ of them? Severus snorted before scowling. What was he implying by '_pretend_ to be mean'? What had gotten into this whole bunch? Just because they'd discovered he hadn't tried to kill Potter—much to his own displeasure—and that he was on the 'light' side in the war, and because he'd saved Percy Weasley from a terrible fate in Azkaban they thought he'd suddenly flipped his personality into Mr. Sunshine? He still found them all repugnant, marginally tolerable at best, and the idea that they expected him to jump for joy as another of their wretched gang wormed his way back into Hogwarts galled him. Apparently he was being too kind!

As for all these bloody Gryffindors assailing the school, he'd better nip that in the bud or he'd need to open a new wing to house them! He made a mental note to write the _Daily Prophet_ with an announcement that any student from last year wishing to take his or her N.E.W.T.S. was welcome to do so come the end of the year, provided they stayed away until then!

"And I'd like to apprentice with Professor Sprout in Herbology," piped up Neville in a rare display of courage.

Severus jerked his head over to glare at Longbottom, assuming he'd heard wrong. No, the whelp was serious alright. He sincerely believed Snape would blithely welcome him into their happy little circle of love. Was he mad? Had he not comprehended the fact that the Headmaster had no use for him—oooh. Snape smiled evilly. Pomona Sprout thought it was funny to slip a man-eating plant into his office, did she? Let's see how funny she found a hefty dose of Longbottom!

Severus shrugged nonchalantly, and in a honey-laden tone with undercurrents of wicked hope for calamity he said, "I suppose it wouldn't hurt for Madame Sprout to have an apprentice. If she resists, and she well may, tell her I gave my consent. But you are not EVER to play teacher, nor sit at the staff table, nor to irritate me with bothersome chatter. Unless you or someone else is on the verge of death, you are not to approach me for any reason whatsoever. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Headmaster. Thank you," gushed Neville. The last provision of avoiding Snape was a godsend! He hurriedly turned to run for the door, followed by a widely grinning Potter.

"I told you he was really decent underneath all that show," confided Harry loud enough for the man to hear, making Snape scowl anew at the praise from the twit. As he was about to leave he twisted back and said, "Congratulations, by the way. I never would've guessed you had a grown daughter."

It would be difficult indeed to decide which professor was more flabbergasted. Minerva gaped at Severus, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Snape was stunned speechless, until Harry went for the door again.

"Potter!" He waited for Harry to turn around. "Where did you hear that?"

"It's all over the school. It was even in the afternoon edition of the _Prophet_." When it seemed Snape didn't intend to respond, he waved and followed Neville out.

"Severus, is that true? You have a child? With whom?"

Pinching his lips so tightly they nearly disappeared, Severus growled, "That would be no one's business."

Minerva suppressed a tiny chortle. The fact that he hadn't outright denied it meant that it _was_ true! Severus Snape had a daughter…and as soon as she got back to Gryffindor Tower she'd find out all about it! "I must be getting along now, Severus. I'll see you at supper." She dashed out like a sprinter from the blocks.

Severus groaned as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The secret was out, everyone would know about Jacinta. Although for himself he didn't mind, he was proud for people to recognize that the lovely girl belonged to him, he had to consider Jacinta, Jack, and Glenna, who'd bear the brunt of the gossip and condescending looks, the whispers behind their backs. Damn it all! Who could have told? The Mulciber family didn't know—until now; Glenna's family wouldn't have revealed it. The only other people who knew were his siblings and the Malfoys. This was not good, not good at all.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Severus waited until evening to floo to Malfoy Manor. Both his siblings had denied any involvement in letting the cat out of the bag, and Glenna had insisted none of them had anything to do with it, they were all mortified. That left only the Malfoys. He was met at the fireplace by Lucius and Narcissa, each seated on overstuffed chairs facing the fire; he thought it odd that Lucius had a glass of chardonnay in his hand since he rarely drank.

"Severus, I'm glad you could come," Lucius greeted him, setting down his glass as he got up to shake hands.

Narcissa echoed his sentiments as she extended a hand to Snape and he bent in for their traditional hug. "What was so important it couldn't wait?" she asked with concern in her blue eyes, the exact same shade of blue as her delicately embroidered blouse.

"Hello, it's always good to see you both," stalled Severus. Were it anyone else, he'd have snarled his complaint the moment he left the floo, but these were his friends—true friends. Surely it must have been an accident that the secret had been revealed! Surely there was a logical explanation.

"Let's move over to the sofa," suggested Lucius, noting that his guest had nowhere to sit.

"No, that's alright, Lucius. After I'm finished accusing you, you'll probably tell me to leave anyway," Severus rejoined, trying to grin and failing.

"Accusing us of what?' exclaimed Narcissa, who'd got up and was walking over to Lucius. Her husband, features projecting surprise as well, stepped over to latch onto her.

Severus licked his lips in the first outward display of nerves he could recall in many, many years. "_Someone_ let it slip that Jacinta is my daughter. I've spoken to the twins and to Glenna…none of them has been spreading it about, but the _Daily Prophet_ has it on 'good authority'."

Both of the Malfoys gaped uncomprehendingly, then Lucius uttered, "You said it was in the newspaper? I read the paper this morning, I didn't see any such thing."

"Afternoon edition," said Severus quietly. "Likely a special edition."

"This is outrageous!" Lucius barked. "How dare they print personal pieces like that!" Even as he said it he realized that the paper wasn't constrained by benevolence, as evidenced by the trash they'd printed about Narcissa's baby being the product of who-knew-which Death Eater.

Narcissa took Severus' hand in hers. "The _Daily Prophet_ is little more than a gossip column, but if you believe Lucius or I had anything to do with this, you're wrong."

"I'm sorry, Narcissa, but if not you…who else knows?"

Snape's pale face turned ashen at the same moment the Malfoy couple reddened—Lucius from ire, Narcissa from embarrassment. Draco!

"Sisidy!" bellowed Lucius. When the elf appeared beside him and immediately began caressing his leg lovingly, he ordered, "Bring Draco here."

Not ten seconds passed before Sisidy had left and returned with Draco in tow, his pantleg firmly in her tiny grasp. "Sisidy brings Master Draco to Master Malfoy. Is Master Malfoy wanting Sisidy for anything else?"

"No, go finish making supper." Despite his anger, he laid a gentle hand on her head to let her know he wasn't upset with her. She smiled contentedly and popped out.

"What'd you make that stupid elf bring me here for?" drawled Draco. He passed a cold glance over Snape before looking back at his father and raising an eyebrow just a bit too cockily.

"First of all, young man, Sisidy is an exemplary elf and you will treat her as such," began the elder man in a patronizing drawl strikingly similar to Draco's.

"Yes, Father," agreed the boy, more to shut him up than anything else.

"Second, I have a question for you and I expect the truth. Did you tell anyone about Severus being Jacinta's father?"

The arrogance dropped like a sheet off the lad's face, to be replaced by the horrified knowledge that he'd been caught in something very bad. The fact that his sire was even asking meant he already knew the answer. If he zigzagged around the chair and away from Snape, he might get to the door before either of the men—hell no, they'd simply immobilize him.

"Uh, no…well…er, yes," he admitted, biting his lip and looking to his mother for support.

He found none. Fueled by hormones and righteous indignation, Narcissa's outrage sprang into overdrive. "How could you do that, Draco? I didn't raise you that way! I cannot believe my son had the audacity to go to the _Daily Prophet_ to blab this confidence Severus entrusted to us!"

"I—what? I didn't go to the _Prophet_," Draco responded, furrowing his brow. "I only told my friends."

Enough said. With Pansy, Daphne, and Blaise in the know, it wouldn't take long until every pureblood family in Britain heard the news. From there it was a hop, skip, and a jump to someone notifying reporters about a juicy scoop.

"Do you even grasp how irresponsible that was?" demanded Lucius.

"What's the big deal? The dark lord is dead, he can't hurt her," pouted the boy defensively.

Severus stepped forward, not content to let the Malfoys fight his battle for him. "Didn't it occur to you to think of Jacinta or Glenna or Jack? How do you think they feel with everyone talking about them, impugning Glenna's reputation, calling Jack a cuckold and Jacinta a bastard halfbreed?"

Draco took a pace backward to escape the wrath roaring at him. In a vicious tone he retorted, "Since when are you so concerned about feelings? Mine certainly didn't matter, or my father's either when you were spying against us, when you caused Father to be sent to Azkaban!"

It took a great deal of will power not to slap the insolent mouth or hex him violently. His hands trembling with fury, Severus ground out through gritted teeth, "Everything I did was to make this world a better place for Jacinta and your parents and _you_. I risked my life year in and year out to bring down Voldemort so _you_ wouldn't have to serve him like Lucius did, and how do you repay me? You humiliate my daughter, who's like a cousin to you, in order to hurt me. I hope you're satisfied."

"I…" Draco didn't have an answer for that. He _had_ been deliberately malicious in telling his friends about Jacinta, in spilling a secret he knew Snape wanted kept, but he hadn't wanted to hurt Jacinta or her family. He'd never anticipated that the whole of the wizarding world would find out! How could he anticipate it? Well alright, his friends had big mouths, but still…

He glanced over at his parents to see shame and anger written all over them. "I never meant for anyone else to find out. Besides, it's not the end of the world. It'll pass, people will forget, just like they'll forget eventually about us being Death Eaters and—"

"Go to your room, Draco," said Lucius.

"But—" One fierce look from his father convinced him to do as he was told. He turned tail and fled the room.

Narcissa edged closer to Severus and squeezed his arm lightly. "I'm so sorry for all of this. Is there anything we can do?"

Snape shook his head. "I suppose Draco is right about one thing—in time people will find something else to gossip over." _But they'll never forget, the family will always carry the taint thrown upon it._ "You'll forgive me if I leave. I'm not in the mood to socialize."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Far out of sight of Hogwarts, Bayly bent over from a standing position, braced himself, and slowly lifted his legs up until he was in a perfect handstand….which might not be overly impressive unless one considered he was currently flying fifteen meters above the ground on his broom. He laughed at the wind whipping his hair and tearing at his pantlegs. He'd missed the sense of freedom and danger coiled together, but with his schoolwork he hardly ever found time to sneak off and fly when no one else was around.

At Durmstrang he'd been on the Quidditch team, and as such was one of the group of boys who competed to best each other in tricks displayed in the air. Sometimes he'd won, sometimes not. Only when a boy had fallen, broken his pelvis, and nearly died had the Headmaster instituted a rule that there was to be no stunt flying above three meters in the air. The penalty for getting caught was, as to be expected, a severe strapping. It had only taken one time at disobeying and paying the price for Bayly and his friends to reluctantly fall in line.

Still in a handstand, he let go with one hand and swung his body hard around, looping under the broom and flipping up to land astride, his cheeks flushed with exhilaration. Then his heart froze in his chest. He wasn't alone. There in the distance nearer to Hogwarts he saw a figure hovering on a broom…watching him.

Bayly swore aloud and circled back to get a good look. Whoever it was would almost certainly tattle on him, and he had no reason to believe he'd be spared a horrific thrashing. He swore again. He'd just gotten over the welts and bruises from Dolohov's beating with the use of Snape's healing spell, and a week later he was in for it again! Not if he had a say in it.

With a sudden thrust he urged the broom forward at a dizzying speed right at the student, who he could now see was a girl. She took his charge as an attack, considering the hateful expression she perceived; wheeling round, she shot off towards Hogwarts.

"Wait!" Bayly called after her. His voice was lost on the wind that roared in their ears. Gloria, that was her name, he recognized her as a Ravenclaw in his year—Quidditch chaser, which explained why she was so fast. "I just wanna talk!"

He spurred the broom even faster until he was directly on her tail. He started to pull up alongside her at the same instant she drew her wand and veered sharply around to face him, but she'd misjudged his position and how close he was. In that split fraction of a second it took her to curve right into his path, he had no time to react, to turn aside. His broom slammed into hers and like a slow motion movie she tumbled backward off the broom into the empty air and hurtled head over heels toward the ground screaming.

His heart in his mouth, Bayly dove down and zipped beneath her; her booted foot came down and clunked him on the head, making him see stars. Barely holding on to the broom with his legs, he snatched wildly at her, grabbing her about the waist with one arm, but the momentum of her fall sent her spinning away, yanking him off his broom. Together they plummeted the remaining twenty feet and thudded onto the grass a short distance from the Forbidden Forest. Bayly hit first, Gloria crashed on top of him, cushioning her fall. Both lay quiet for a moment.

Gloria moaned and rolled off of Bayly. She didn't need to ask if he was hurt, the blood seeping from the corner of his mouth told her everything. She pushed her aching body up and shrieked for help, then realizing how silly that was she bolted for the castle.

From the Forbidden Forest, Aline came running when she heard screams; in one hand she carried a sack of roots and herbs she'd been digging, in the other her wand. She saw Gloria tearing off to the castle, then her stomach lurched at the sight of a student lying motionless on the ground. He looked to be dead.

On quaking legs she hurried over to him…it was Bayly. She knelt down to gently touch his neck for a pulse, and a jolt shot through her body making her gasp. Stunned, she blinked back the sensation with more than a small effort, then waved her wand in a diagnostic spell.

"Oh, God," she murmured, feeling helplessly inept. She could heal the broken bones, but the damage to his internal organs was beyond her skill. She'd never thought it necessary to learn beyond basic healing when she had potions that could cure nearly anything, and now that Bayly needed immediate medical attention she had no idea how to offer it.

Aline stood up, cast an _immobulus_ to prevent movement that might cause worse harm to the boy, and began levitating him toward the castle when to her great relief Madame Pomfrey rushed out to take over.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Headmaster, may I speak with you?" Aline poked her head around the semi-ajar door, her eyes still troubled by the events of the past hour.

_Is it possible to shut you up?_ Severus thought snidely. _If I say 'no', will you go away?_ "What is it?"

Aline paced slowly up to the desk, looked down at the hard wooden chairs in front of it, then looked up at a blank spot on the wall behind him. "Bayly Young has fallen off his broom, he's been badly hurt."

Snape stood up at once. "Has Poppy sent you for me?"

"No…I think she has it under control."

Severus' spy mode switched on. Why was she averse to meet his eye? He paused before responding. In the worst way he didn't want to ask because that meant she might actually _tell_ him, and he was absolutely sure he didn't want to know. But if he didn't ask, she'd never go away. What a dilemma!

Taking a breath to steel himself, he inquired, "If she doesn't require my assistance, why are you here? I'm not allocating any more money for student supplies. The little monsters ought not blow up their cauldrons so often. You coddle them too much."

He had to ask, didn't he? In a rush like the air flowing out of a balloon, Aline gushed, "I'm not asking you for anything. I have to tell you something and I don't really want to. I don't like to tell people this because it freaks them out, but I'm clairvoyant. Not as good as my sister, perhaps, but let's not open _that_ can of worms."

Despite his surprise at this revelation, Severus merely dropped back into his chair as he drawled, "Will you be getting to the point any time soon, or shall I order tea and biscuits?"

"Bayly is being abused by his father. I saw it when I touched him."

At once interested and concerned, Severus leaned forward, brow furrowed, lips tight. "You're sure?"

"Yes. He's been beaten and tortured with the Cruciatus Curse." Another pause while a wave of unexpected respect rolled over her as she noted the fury simmering in those fathomless black eyes. Snape was capable of caring! "There's something else, it came only as a flash rather than a picture…a sense of danger."

"Well spit it out," snapped the wizard.

"I think Bayly is involved in a plot to kill you." There, she'd said it, she'd done her duty. Aline squared her shoulders and studied his reaction. Why wasn't he answering with some snotty comeback? The annoying jerk _always_ had something rude to say. Why wasn't he disputing her ability or disparaging her character?

Rendered momentarily thunderstruck, Severus gathered his wits to reply, "I'm sure you're mistaken."

Ah, there it was. Good to know she could count on little continuities in life. She was genuinely disappointed that this was the best he could come up with. It must have shocked him worse than he let on.

"I hope I'm mistaken," she said softly. "I'm going back to the infirmary."

As she turned he called out, "Tell Poppy I'll be in to see the boy shortly. And Miss Conn—thank you."

Completely caught off guard by his simple display of etiquette, Aline halted without looking back. "I will. You're welcome." She beat a hasty retreat out the door lest he blindside her again. That was too weird!

From across the room where his portrait had been moved, Albus pursed his lips in a worried frown. "Miss Conn seems concerned with your welfare, Severus. I thought you said she was a shrew."

Severus glared at him and said nothing.

"And didn't you tell me Mr. Young is a nice lad?"

"I said he wasn't irksome like the rest of the little…darlings," retorted Snape. Of all the students to turn on him—and Merlin could only guess how many harbored such mutinous sentiments—he wouldn't have bet on Bayly! How had his radar been so far off? _Unless Miss Conn is wrong, which is probably the case_, he huffed. "In any event, I doubt I have much to fear from a teenager."

"I'm certain you're right," said Dumbledore in his infuriatingly condescending way of saying he wasn't sure of that at all.

"For heaven's sake, Dumbledore, I was a bloody Death Eater! I think I can handle a seventh year boy!" growled Snape.

"The boy is not the problem at the moment, as he is incapacitated," Albus stated. "Miss Conn mentioned a plot, meaning adults are likely the ringleaders."

"You make it sound like half of Britain wants to kill me," Severus muttered.

"For all we know, Severus, they might."


	23. Dolohov

Death Eater No More—Chapter Twenty-Three (Dolohov)

Sitting on a hard wooden chair in the infirmary beside Bayly, who lay sleeping in bed, Aline brushed back the lad's blond hair from his brow. His face contorted with agony and a groan echoed through the nearly empty room. Aline hated to see anyone suffer, even delinquents, yet despite the terrible presentiment she'd gotten earlier, she couldn't think of Bayly as a bad kid. She'd only ever known him to be obedient, helpful, respectful…it didn't add up. If only she could turn on the clairvoyance at will! But no, since that first contact she'd sensed nothing.

She bent forward to tilt a small brown vial to his lips, forcing them open very gently and pouring a little of the liquid into his mouth. He grimaced but swallowed it. "For the pain," she whispered, though she doubted he'd hear. "You helped make it."

A tiny smile flitted over his features and was gone.

Aline capped the vial and set it on the bedside table. Poppy would be back soon to check on the boy, so she supposed she may as well go. It did no one any good to talk to an unconscious student. She stood up and reached over to pull the curtain back so she could leave, wondering as she did so why Poppy bothered with this aspect of privacy when there was no one else in the infirmary.

"Professor?" mumbled Bayly.

The witch wheeled around in surprise. "Bayly, you're awake! How do you feel?" _Dumb question_, she chided herself.

Bayly glanced dazedly around him, at the curtain, the bedclothes. "Where….I fell. Gloria was there—is she alright?" His hazel eyes sprang open wide as realization hit him, and he tried to sit up, eliciting a sharp cry.

"Don't move," cautioned Aline, calmly pressing him back down. "You are seriously injured, you need to remain still. Gloria's fine. She had a broken wrist and some bumps and bruises, but she's well now."

As if a huge weight had been released from him, his body relaxed against the sheet. In a barely audible voice he said, "I just wanted to talk to her."

"You'll have ample opportunity for that later." She regarded the boy closely, musing to herself as she absently chewed her lip. Should she bring up the subject she wished to avoid at all cost? Bayly was so sick, he wasn't strong enough to defend himself against accusations yet. But she _had_ to bring it up, if she didn't the Headmaster would, and he didn't seem the type to play nice….for some strange reason she feared—perhaps groundlessly—the man might harm Bayly. "Bayly, why do you want to kill Professor Snape?"

She didn't think it was possible for the injured lad to get any paler, yet he blanched to the color of the bleached white sheet. "I-I don't know where you got that idea." His voice lacked any force of conviction and he hurriedly looked away.

Sympathetically Aline patted his arm and responded, "Believe me, you aren't alone. I'm sure there are plenty of us—_people_, I mean—who've thought about it, but one must keep such feelings under stringent control."

"I like the Headmaster," he insisted, dismayed to even be having this exchange.

Aline sighed and shook her head pityingly. The poor boy must have hit his head pretty hard! "Now you're just talking nonsense. Maybe I'll come back when you're not delirious."

"But I do! We worked together for two weeks and he never yelled at me or hit me, he showed me lots of interesting stuff about potions. He even said I wasn't a complete dunderhead, which for him is a compliment!"

"Browbeating a sick child, Miss Conn?" crooned Severus as he yanked back the curtain, startling the woman and the boy. Not a hint of emotion showed on his face.

Aline flushed to the roots of her hair. He'd overheard their conversation, the sneaky, eavesdropping toad! "I was not _browbeating_ him, Headmaster, I was trying to get to the bottom of this new development."

Snape merely quirked an eyebrow as he brushed past her to stand ominously over Bayly, who gazed up anxiously at him. "So, Mr. Young, since Professor Conn has initiated the interrogation, I may as well finish it." He crossed his arms in his inimitably intimidating manner.

Bayly didn't dare ask 'interrogation for what'. That was fairly evident, there'd be no purpose in angering the wizard more than he already was.

Therefore it surprised him when the Headmaster gave a smirk and said, "I don't intend to harm you or kill you, regardless of what Miss Conn may have told you. If I did away with every student—or faculty member—who ever hated me or wanted to murder me, there'd be precious few left." He directed a pointed stare at Aline, who blushed again, to his great amusement.

In spite of his fear Bayly grinned. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a glimmer of merriment in the man's eye—obviously an obscene trick of the light. "I don't want to kill you, sir," Bayly replied earnestly.

He was telling the truth. Severus didn't need to be a Legilimens to see that. When the kid wasn't aware of his presence he'd confessed to liking Snape, perchance to fool Miss Conn, but Severus didn't think so. He'd been adamant and sincere, he'd given bona fide _reasons_. The very idea of a student _liking_ him gave Severus an odd, foreign sensation of warmth in his chest. He hoped he wasn't getting heartburn.

He decided to switch tactics, mess with the boy's head, so to speak. If he kept the brat off guard and confused, he was more likely to be able to spot a lie without simply reading the urchin's memories. "Did you know Professor Conn is clairvoyant, Mr. Young? No? She told me some intriguing things—aside from that pesky murder plot, of course."

If Bayly's eyes grew any larger they'd surely pop right out of his head and roll onto the floor. A suppressed whimper in the back of his throat served as his answer.

"How long has your father been beating you?"

The unexpected change of topic made Bayly do a doubletake. "Huh? About two years or so, I guess," he mumbled, not even considering refuting the allegation. By the time it occurred to him that he should have kept his mouth shut, it was too late. In a weak defensive tone he added, "It's not illegal for a father to discipline his son."

"Legal or not, it's immoral to brutalize a child," Severus stated, his black eyes flashing ferociously. "And it most certainly is illegal and unconscionable to use the Cruciatus."

Bayly flinched at the very mention of the word. "I never said that!"

"But you don't deny it," said the Headmaster in a smooth, deep drawl, deliberately twirling in his fingers the wand that had appeared in his hand. "Perhaps I need to summon your father here so I can speak to him in terms he understands." There were several things Severus would _like_ to do to him, and none of them involved speaking anything beyond choice dark curses.

"No, you can't!" Bayly shrieked, far too frantically to be dismissed. He appeared to have begun hyperventilating.

Severus ceased playing with the wand; he'd made his point. "Calm yourself, Mr. Young. Are you afraid I'll hurt your father?"

Bayly shook his head mutely.

"Are you afraid he'll take it out on you?"

"No—well, yes, but it's not that! You can't tell him or he'll come here and that's what he wants!" pleaded the youth. Tears sprang to his eyes.

"I don't follow."

"He'll kill you!"

Snape cast a troubled glance at Aline, who looked every bit as stunned as he felt. He'd dealt with a multitude of irate parents in the past, none of whom had actively tried to slay him, except perhaps with the momentous weight of their stupidity. But if there truly existed a plot—and facts seemed to be leaning that way—mayhap Bayly's father played a part in it. He didn't have a chance to ask for clarification, for Bayly had broken down in hysterics and was rambling on.

"He wants you dead, not me! I didn't want to spy on you, he made me! He said if I didn't obey him he'd make sure I got sent to Azkaban with him!" wailed the distraught boy.

The tale got more convoluted and bizarre. Snape didn't even know any elder Mr. Young, who apparently had it in for him, who'd sent Bayly to _spy_ on him. Severus was always aware of people around him, careful of divulging anything personal or confidential…what kind of useless information could the boy have gotten? "Why should you be afraid of being sent to Azkaban, Mr. Young? Not counting your dismal attempts to spy on me, you haven't done anything criminal."

"For being a Death Eater," Bayly choked out between sobs.

Severus froze as if a sheet of ice had been folded around him. This child was a Death Eater? He'd known nearly every member of the group, yet he'd never seen Bayly. He was too young to have been a longtime member. There were those who remained masked, but he generally knew them nonetheless, and new recruits were very hard to come by so close to the end of the war. "When did you join?"

"He made me take the Mark a couple of months before the dark lord was killed."

Ah, that explained a lot. He'd been forced into it. Snape relaxed inwardly, which irritated him. Why should he give one diddly damn if the brat went to prison?

From her position beside the curtain, Aline gaped at Bayly. Death Eaters were thugs and crooks, demons incarnate if she believed half of what the other teachers had told her! But Bayly was a nice boy; even the Headmaster, exasperating as he was and a traitor to their dark cause, wasn't as thoroughly vile as she'd pictured a Death Eater to be. Evidently her perception of the 'average' Death Eater was colored by the stories of torture and murders the worst of them had committed.

Severus spoke slowly in a very serious tone. "Bayly, who is your father?"

Bayly looked up at him with tears glistening on his cheeks but a stout resolution on his countenance. He'd gone this far, there was no turning back. His fate was sealed, he'd be headed to Azkaban, but Snape deserved better. He had to warn the Headmaster before it was too late, he had to save him from the monster. "Antonin Dolohov."

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The boy resembled his mother, no disputing that. Her hair was a dirtier blond, but the face was astonishingly similar. It was no wonder Severus hadn't detected anything familiar about Bayly, any likeness to Dolohov.

"I want to see Bayly! You said he's hurt," Livonia insisted, pacing nervously.

"In good time, Mrs. Young," he replied evenly, pausing to see if she'd correct him on the name. She did not. "He's been under a high degree of stress, he recently drank a Calming Draught to put him to sleep for a few hours. Your husband didn't accompany you?"

"He's….working," she responded in a lie so blatant it was laughable.

"Were you aware that he has used the Cruciatus Curse on your son?"

Her face registered unmitigated shock that was quickly overcome by anger. "Toni wouldn't hurt Bayly like that! You're lying!"

"I assure you I am not," Severus growled softly, his eyes never leaving her face. "Your son told me quite a bit about his father, which is why I felt compelled to notify the Minister of Magic, who is sending aurors to pick up Mr. Dolohov as we speak."

Livonia looked primed to swoon at his casual mention of the Death Eater's name. No one knew, she'd been so careful….that could only mean Bayly really had told! Why would he turn on his father that way? She swayed and grasped the edge of his desk. "You can't do this, I just got him back. Everybody lies about him, he's not evil. He loves Bayly, he wouldn't hurt him!"

Severus slammed a hand on his desk so hard she jumped. "Antonin Dolohov is a vicious, sadistic murderer who took great delight in torturing people, as I witnessed first hand on many occasions," he retorted. "I don't doubt for a millisecond that Bayly is telling the truth. If you were any kind of mother you'd protect your son from the likes of him instead of defending a man who is appallingly cruel, even to his own flesh and blood!"

He sighed and rolled his eyes. Livonia had slid to the floor in a dead faint.

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The house elf trotted up to the front door and peeked her huge, pointy nose through the crack of the opening. Not recognizing the wizard, she cocked her head and gawked up at him. "Can Prissy helps Mister Visitor?"

"I'm a friend of Severus Snape. I've come to see Jacinta."

With an elf's unerring lack of manners, Prissy shut the door in his face to apparate to the young woman's room. "Miss Jacinta, there's being a man at the door for you. He says he knowing Mister Severus."

Creasing her brow, Jacinta set down her _Dark Arts and You_ book and rose from the bed, stowing her wand in her robes. It was probably another of those attention-seeking reporters who'd hounded the Mulcibers ever since that contemptible article had been published revealing her relationship to Severus. If it weren't for Mama and Daddy, she wouldn't care what they said, they could all kiss her arse, but if affected her family. She was sincerely tempted to try out a few of her new curses on whoever was bothering them this time.

She opened the door barely enough to get a good look at the wizard waiting patiently on the other side. He didn't look like a reporter, though he seemed oddly familiar. "Prissy tells me you claim to know Severus Snape." It felt too weird to call him 'Papa' in front of this stranger.

The man smiled, his pale face morphing to almost pleasant from the natural twisted form. "Snape and I are old friends. I read in the paper that you're his daughter…I confess I'm stunned. He never mentioned you."

"No, I don't imagine he did," she replied noncommittally. "What business have you here."

"I came to meet you, to see for myself," answered the man as he studied her features. His smile turned into a gleeful leer. "You do favor him a bit, I see it now. Mulciber was a right fool to believe you were Jack's daughter."

_Mulciber_? Why was he talking about Jack's father as if he knew him, too? In a sickening heartbeat it struck her and she slammed the door—or rather attempted to, but the man rammed into it with his shoulder as he cast an _expelliarmus_. Her wand flew into his hand.

Half a second later he was upon her, his arm clamped round her neck from behind, his wand at her temple. With his hot breath steaming against her neck he whispered in her ear, "Don't you know better than to show disrespect for your elders, Jacinta? Well, I shouldn't expect anything more from a halfbreed, should I?"

He chuckled; Jacinta shuddered as a chill went down her spine. She remembered where she'd seen him: on wanted posters in Diagon Alley—this was Antonin Dolohov, a Death Eater escaped from Azkaban! What could he possibly want from her? If she cried out he'd blast her head off, if she didn't, who knew what might happen?

"Snape is a traitorous bastard, Jacinta. You ought to be ashamed to be related to him. He helped bring about the fall of Lord Voldemort, he ruined everything."

"What do you want?" she asked cautiously.

"Come quietly with me and I won't hurt you," he cooed patronizingly.

"Why? So you can use me as bait to draw my father to you?" she spat back.

Dolohov seemed amused by her spunk. "I have to say, you inherited those Snape smarts. That's exactly what I plan."

He started to drag the young woman toward the door, his arm still firmly around her neck, her back pressed to his chest. Jacinta spun as far as she could while swinging an elbow at his head; it caught him on the nose and he growled in anger, slackening his hold. She dropped down to wriggle out of his grasp and lunged away.

"_Accio_ wand!" she cried, her heart pounding a hundred beats a minute. His wand was held too tightly to budge, but her own soared into her fist. She scarcely blocked a flaming curse he hurled her way. "_Daddy_!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "_Daddy_!"

Dolohov threw a quick series of hexes that Jacinta avoided by the skin of her teeth by flattening herself behind one of the support columns that lined the foyer. She cast a _protego_ and aimed a dark spell his way. He casually flicked it aside with a sneer, but his smug attitude vanished when another spell hurtled his way, and it wasn't coming from Jacinta.

Several more curses and hexes rained down, with Dolohov blocking and turning them aside, giving him meager opportunity to fire back, especially when Jacinta joined in casting her own at him. Dolohov battled the two as he beat a retreat for the door, and the moment he stepped outside he disapparated.

Jack allowed himself to breathe again. With his wand he closed and locked the door, then rushed over spreading his arms to his daughter, who raced to him trembling. He held her tightly while he stroked her hair. "Are you okay, baby?"

She nodded through the tears that had somehow appeared on her cheeks. She brushed them away in annoyance. "He tried to kidnap me to use against Papa."

The man's jaw, already set in fury, hardened. No one attacked his family and got away with it! He'd learned dueling the hard way at his father's hand—learn quickly or suffer the consequences of whatever dark curses the man decided to use. Were it not for such lessons, he feared he might not have been so successful against Dolohov, a formidable foe in anyone's book. As much as he was loath to admit it, Snape was a better dueler than himself. He couldn't say he pitied Dolohov when they caught up to him.

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Jack had wasted no time in flooing Snape to report Jacinta's near-abduction. Although anyone might expect the wizard to be uber-pissed at the news, few would have anticipated the way Snape's calm demeanor disappeared and he flew into a rage that left his quarters at Hogwarts in shambles. _Damn that Dolohov to hell_! He'd hoped the aurors had apprehended the bastard at Bayly's house, only to discover the Death Eater had somehow evaded them and gone straight to Jacinta!

He'd left the mess for the house elves to clean up, and went right to the Mulciber residence to reassure himself his daughter was well. He and Jack had discussed what to do, and after much wrangling Severus had convinced Jack to stay home to defend his family in the event Dolohov returned. It was unlikely but not out of the question, and he'd feel more secure knowing a competent fighter was in the house, despite the aurors now stationed outside. Then he had gone to the one place he knew he could find assistance: Malfoy Manor.

"I find it hard to believe Dolohov had the audacity to attack Jacinta in her own home," Lucius commented. In truth he didn't find it so shocking at all, for they both knew how conniving and backstabbing the wizard was. If Dolohov _hadn't_ gone for the easy target, he'd have been surprised. Nonetheless, it outraged him for Severus' and Jacinta's sakes. "Am I to take it we're forming a search party?"

Severus smiled thinly, his eyes sparkling orbs of wrath. Both of them clearly understood what Lucius meant by 'search party'; if Dolohov were found, he wouldn't be going back to Azkaban or anywhere else. "If you would be so kind as to accompany me."

"Of course." Lucius got up from the chair in his study and _accio_'d his cloak and cane, the latter shining brilliantly from the new coat of wax Sisidy had given it. During his private 'discussion' with Draco concerning the newspaper article on the Snapes, the cane had decidedly lost a good deal of its sheen on the wayward boy's backside, and Draco had lost a good deal of his adolescent attitude.

As if to speak of the devil, a voice wafted in, "Let me come." Through the carelessly left open door of the study Draco stepped into the room, all traces of cockiness gone. In its place he wore an air of contrition as he chanced a glance at his godfather.

"Bending an ear where it doesn't belong, son?" asked Lucius in a low, eerily calm tone. "We've been over this before, haven't we?"

Draco's eyes flitted to the cane and he gulped. While he certainly had no desire to repeat the lesson he'd learned so recently, his self-reproach prompted him on. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry, I only came to tell you Mother is back from shopping, you wanted to know…I heard what Severus said about Dolohov and I want to help find him." Draco's eyes pleaded with the older wizards.

"Absolutely not," clipped Lucius in his end-of-discussion voice.

"Father, why not?"

"Because Dolohov is an extremely dangerous man!" _Does the boy not comprehend how to shut up?_

"I'm pretty good at dueling," Draco protested.

Severus snorted in a half laugh, half scoff. "You are far out of your league with him, Draco. He's not one of your teenaged friends, he's a hardened Death Eater who's been dueling since before your father was born. Leave him to us."

"But I want to help." He crossed the room to Severus, where he stood in front of him blocking his exit. "I'm sorry I said anything about Jacinta, I never anticipated anything bad would happen. I know this is all my fault."

He left unsaid the terrible thought that Jacinta could have been killed, that if she had been he'd have carried that burden to his grave. Until Dolohov was captured or dead, the threat remained very real, so tangible it snarled around his heart like a choking vine, and he'd caused the whole mess. The only redemption would be as part of the solution in finding the despicable man.

"I'm not here to assign blame, Draco. Putting you in harm's way would not be beneficial, it would merely be more perilous for all of us," explained Severus. Of all the people in the world, only two had the power to affect him with a single look: his daughter and his godson, and right now Draco's pitiful expression begged him for something, anything to alleviate the guilt. He placed a hand on the young man's shoulder and said quietly, "I forgive you, as I hope you forgive me any pain I caused you."

Draco nodded silently. He wanted to throw himself in Severus' arms and tell him how sorry he was for acting like a child, that he understood his godfather hadn't intended to hurt the family….that he loved him. But he was a Malfoy, and Malfoys were not prone to unseemly acts of sentimentality. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Guard your mother," interjected Lucius. When his son gave him a puzzled look, he elaborated, "The wards are strong around the manor, but Dolohov is no slouch. He studied under Voldemort for many years, he may be able to break through. Until I return, you and Sisidy must protect your mother."

"Yes, Father, I will." Given a purpose, Draco straightened and held his head up.

"Shall we, Lucius?" Severus said.

The other man inclined his head and smiled ever so slightly. He'd hated going on missions for the dark lord, hated the possibility that he may be forced to torture or kill. With Dolohov the object of the hunt, with all the evil he'd perpetrated in his life, somehow it didn't seem remotely the same.


	24. A Hunting We Will Go

Death Eater No More—Chapter Twenty-Four (A-Hunting We Will Go)

**November 27, 1998**

Old timber burned well. That was the consensus between Severus and Lucius as they stood back a fair piece from the flaming home watching with casual interest. A great beam crashed from the roof, sending spark-filled cinders high into the air; both men smiled contentedly. A job well done.

Before embarking on their search for Dolohov, they'd carefully studied Abraxas' old magic map of family lands. Dolohov's holdings, acquired by his ancestors over the centuries, amounted to only four properties: one in which his wife resided, one in which his mistress resided, and two unoccupied, unkempt homes. The former two were currently under observation by vigilant aurors; the latter two no longer existed as anything more than piles of charred boards and glass, courtesy of Malfoy and Snape. While they'd been unable to find Dolohov as yet, at least he wouldn't be taking shelter on any of his properties.

Severus turned to his companion with a grim smile. "Well, Lucius, I suppose you ought to go on home. Narcissa will be worried."

"I suppose I should," agreed the other. The stars and moon shining down reflected on his hair, making it glow an ethereal white. He'd been out several times since their pursuit had begun, and Narcissa was becoming increasingly agitated over it. "Do you want to hunt again tomorrow?"

"No, I'm starting to doubt we'll find him now," said Severus disgustedly. "He may have left the country."

"I don't think so," countered Lucius. "He's found a place to hide is all."

For a long moment Snape said nothing. He had no intention of ending the search, but it didn't seem fair to Lucius or his family to keep dragging him along until such time as Dolohov was caught. This was _his_ problem, _his_ fight…and Jack's. Mulciber had the right to defend Jacinta, too. Malfoy had done all that could seriously be expected even from a best friend.

"I'll let you know if I need your help again, Lucius. And thank you, you're a good friend."

"Likewise, Severus. I will continue to do my utmost to find Dolohov, I assure you." Lucius bundled his cloak around himself, nodded a goodnight, and disapparated.

Severus stared into the fire for a while longer, then sighed heavily and disapparated back to Hogwarts to face his colleagues and the urchins who were undoubtedly devising new and inventive ways to get into mischief and piss him off. A Headmaster's job was never done!

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"I don't think it's a bad idea at all," declared Rodolphus emphatically.

"Well, I do," Nott sulked. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the other men. "If you and Rabastan run off to Canada, where does that leave me? Varden won't let me stay here without you." He jerked a thumb in the direction of the older wizard who sat listening to their conversation.

"Come with us," Rabastan invited him. "There's loads of places to blend in and hide in a big country like that."

"I can't leave my family!" Nott stopped short of stamping his foot to emphasize his point. "Rodolphus, you wouldn't have left Bella, would you?"

Rabastan sucked in a breath and shot a quick glance at his brother, waiting for the fireworks to explode. There was an unspoken pact among them not to discuss Rodolphus' marriage or Bella in general…but then, this was Nott; he seemed incapable at times of rational thought. Rodolphus' visage hardened a touch, then surprisingly relaxed.

"No, I wouldn't have abandoned Bella. Nott's got a point, Rabby." He gave a flick of his wand and the carafe of wine from the sideboard floated into his hand. He poured himself a glass, gulped it down, then poured another. "There's still the disfigurement option."

Nott scrunched his brow and snorted contemptuously. "Like I'd go to some Muggle hack and let him cut up my face. Whose brilliant idea was that anyway?"

Varden had the audacity to look affronted. "It's a perfectly logical idea. You'd be free to mix in wizard society and no one would even know it was you."

"You're daft," Nott grunted at him. "My wife likes me the way I am."

"She'd like you better if you could be with her, wouldn't she?" snapped Varden. _And I'd be rid of you. We'd all be winners._

"I'm not going to some blooming Muggle, damn it!"

"Who's talking of visiting Muggles?" Lucius poked his head in the door left partly open to take advantage of a cleansing breeze.

Rodolphus stood up to greet him with a smile and a handshake. "Good to see you, Lucius. Sit down, have a drink." He offered a cigar, which Lucius politely refused. Aside from the odor he personally found offensive, Narcissa would smell it and all hell would break loose.

"What's this about Muggles?" Lucius repeated. In the pit of his stomach a knot was forming. Were they planning to resume the dark lord's reign of terror now that things had finally calmed down and society was beginning to normalize?

"We were discussing moving to Canada where we'd be strangers and the aurors wouldn't begin to know where to look for us, but Nott won't leave his family," explained Rabastan blithely as he sipped from his own drink. "Varden suggested he have one of those Muggle specialist doctors carve up and rearrange his face to make him unrecognizable so he can go home, only his wife wouldn't want a monster."

The expression on Lucius' features denoted utter shock and revulsion. Who in their right mind would allow some Muggle freak _near_ them, let alone to hand them a knife and enjoin them to have at it? "That is so….repulsive," he answered at last. "And you're actually encouraging Nott to do it?"

"It's not as bad as it sounds," Varden said in his own defense. "You boys may not believe this, but I used to travel a lot and spend time with Muggles as well as wizards." He ignored the generalized shudder that ran through the room. "I've seen pictures of people before and after these operations. They can change you a little or a lot, make it so you can't be identified, but it's not like mutilating or scarring."

"Right," muttered Rabastan under his breath.

"Loads of people end up looking better when it's done!" Varden shot back.

"That seems pretty unlikely, Uncle," said Rodolphus.

"But it's true. I don't know why the wizarding world doesn't do it, what with some of the ugly gits I've known. And don't even get me started on goblins and house elves!"

"Aaaanyway," Rodolphus replied, turning his attention to Lucius. "What brings you here?"

"Dolohov." The others in the room perked up at the name. "Has he been by here recently?"

Varden shook his head, as did the rest.

That figured. The one time he'd have been semi-glad to see Dolohov would have been now, in order to end this blasted search. Lucius grimaced. "You've heard about Severus' daughter, I imagine." It wasn't a question; it was taken for granted everyone knew by now.

"You mean Mulciber's kid?" asked Nott, laughing. The others snickered along. "Yeah, we read about it in the paper. I'm not too surprised, Snape was shagging Glenna all through our seventh year. Did Mulciber pitch a fit?"

Lucius shook his head. "He's known since Jacinta was born, but we can talk about that later. Dolohov tried to abduct her to use against Snape, and now we're looking for the bastard….for obvious reasons." His voice hardened a bit.

"You want us to kill him if he shows up?" inquired Rodolphus without a hint of jesting, speaking as if he were contemplating crunching a bug under his shoe.

"I think Severus would prefer to do the honors, but if he puts up a fight I'd not fault you for eliminating him," said Lucius in a matter-of-fact tone. "I wondered if any of you might know where to find him. Roddy, you and Rabastan had a more amicable association with him than I did."

Rabastan downed the remaining wine in his glass. "Far as I know he went to live with his mistress. I have no clue where that is."

"The aurors are staking out his home and the mistress' home," Malfoy replied. "He no longer has any other property; did he ever mention any secret places or hideaways?" If he had, it would be no great shock, many of the Death Eaters had such places for emergencies.

"Sorry, Lucius, he never did to me," Rodolphus said with a shrug. "Yaxley's the only one he'd confide something like that to, and he's in Azkaban—and he wouldn't tell you even if he knew."

"No, he wouldn't," mused the blond wizard dejectedly.

For all his love of Severus and Jacinta, he was weary of straining to catch a glimpse of Dolohov in every crowd, of deliberately visiting old haunts on the off chance the older man might be there. Because of this friendship, he would not and could not forsake the chase, but maybe Severus was right, he ought to cut back before he drove himself mad. Dolohov would slip up eventually, and when he did they'd be there to settle the score. For now, that would have to do.

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Draco hated house elves, as a rule. Dobby had been an obnoxious little lunatic that Father despised for his grotesque personality and refusal to clean himself or his clothing as much as for his spying on him and reporting back to Abraxas when Lucius was a boy. This attitude had rubbed off on Draco, along with his natural aversion to anything beneath him, despite the fact that Sisidy was always kind, clean, and helpful, and when Sisidy had come to tell him he had company he shooed her impatiently from the room. No matter his feelings, he dared not strike the elf, for Father held this one dear, most likely for the way she'd fawned over him all his life.

Moments after Sisidy disappeared, a mini-mob consisting of Pansy, Daphne, Blaise, and Theodore invaded his room. The girls leaped onto the bed and made themselves at home, the boys greeted Draco with sly, odd looks exchanged between them.

Zabini closed the door and wheeled on Draco, grinning behind a secret struggling to break free. "So, Draco, what're you up to?"

"Working on a thesis in nuclear physics," drawled Malfoy. He wasn't entirely sure what nuclear physics was, but he'd read it somewhere. "Why?"

"We want you to go shopping with us!" exclaimed Daphne, who then broke down in giggles, apparently overcome with excitement.

Draco rolled his eyes. "That's the best you lot can come up with? Shopping? I'd rather pull out my leg hairs one at a time, thanks just the same."

"Not _that_ kind of shopping," smirked Pansy as she sat up and gave a self-important smile. "Tell him, Blaise. It was your idea."

Blaise stepped a few paces closer and whispered, "We're gonna play Muggle."

Draco paused, stunned. He blinked a few times. Obviously he'd heard that wrong. No one came into Malfoy Manor and nonchalantly suggested a Malfoy have anything whatsoever to do with Muggles! Finding his voice he inquired, "Did you just say 'play Muggle'?"

The other boy nodded enthusiastically. "Me and my cousin—" Here he indicated Theodore Nott, whose mother was sister to Blaise's father. "—started it about a year ago. You dress like a Muggle and go into their world and go _shopping_."

Theodore cut in with, "But it's not really shopping 'cause you don't buy anything, you _take_ it."

"And you can't use magic," added Pansy. "Then we all get together and see who nicked the best stuff."

He must be hallucinating or dreaming, nothing else could explain this insanity. Shaking himself from his daze, Draco felt compelled to clarify the absurdities he thought he'd heard. "You're telling me you all actually put on filthy Muggle clothing and steal items from their despicable Muggle shops."

The group nodded, grinning like idiots.

"What happens if you get caught? You said no magic." He crossed his arms to await the answer.

Daphne gestured at Nott. "Theo got caught once, but Blaise just _confunded_ the bloke and that was that."

"That's using magic, in case you somehow missed it," said Draco in exasperation.

"Come on, it'll be fun," Pansy cajoled. "I was scared the first time, too."

"I'm not scared, I'm disgusted!" huffed Draco. He swept an arm around the huge room. "Do you see any Muggle clothes here? Of course you don't, Malfoys are proud to be wizards!"

"That's the whole point," said Blaise in a tone eerily similar to condescending. "We prove we're better than them and have fun at the same time. I have some extra clothes you can borrow—I swiped them." The last he tacked on in the event Draco might imagine he'd purchased them.

"Come with us, Draco," Daphne entreated as she slithered off the bed to come over and take his hand while giving a petulant pout. "You'll have a good time, I promise."

How this could possibly translate to a good time remained a mystery, yet it might be better than the mind-numbing boredom of sitting around the mansion listening to Mother try out baby names. And how bad could it be if all his friends had done it and enjoyed it? "Yeah, alright—but I'm taking my wand!"

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This unfamiliar enemy territory of jostling hordes of unwashed masses, metal vehicles skimming the streets, Muggle 'magic' displayed everywhere felt strange, creepy even, though one wouldn't know it from Draco's blank countenance. The time to back out was long passed, his friends would tease him mercilessly if he chickened out, so he sauntered down the aisle of a Muggle drugstore with his head held high, hands in his pockets, disdainfully taking in the multitudes of packaged goods lining the shelves. He didn't pause to read what they said, he honestly didn't care. They were Muggle trash, that's all he needed to know.

He was supposed to take something, that was the game, but with these ridiculous tight pants and T-shirt where could he hide anything? He'd be caught, they'd notify his father! Draco's wildly pounding heart sprang into his throat; if Lucius Malfoy ever got wind of the fact that his son was gallivanting around Muggle shops dressed like a barbarian, stealing like a common thief, it may well be the last thing he ever did! At the very least he'd get a taste of undiluted Malfoy discipline from ages past….he remembered the stories grandfather had told him of his own youth, and the prospect of being thus chastised caused him to quake inside. His only viable alternative was to _not get caught_. In his near panicked state, it didn't occur to him that Muggles had no way of contacting Lucius or any other wizard.

He did a lazy turn in the aisle, his eyes flitting cautiously to make sure he was alone. He was. Quickly his hand shot out, snatched the nearest small article, and jammed it into his pocket. His heart racing with terror and excitement, each vying for the upper hand, he casually strolled back the way he'd come, out the door looking neither left nor right, to the spot in the park where his gang awaited him. He'd been the last of the group to choose a store and pilfer his item, and now they greeted him eagerly.

"Did you do it?"

"What'd you get?"

"Did they see you?"

Draco emptied his pocket and proudly held up a box labeled 'Hemorrhoid Cream'. "It was easy." And quite a rush, to be truthful; he understood why they enjoyed this. He couldn't restrain a grin.

"What is it?" asked Theodore.

"How would I know?" Draco sneered back. "I don't study stupid Muggle artifacts."

Daphne pulled a necklace from her cleavage and held it up for the rest to see. It was a plain silver chain with a tiny swan pendant. "Top that!"

The other three produced their ill-gotten gains: Pansy gloated over a portable radio that she'd stashed under her skirt, Blaise had a wristwatch already strapped to his arm, and Theodore displayed a mini-flashlight which he repeatedly tried to turn on, ignorant of its need for batteries.

"So who won?" asked Draco.

"Not you!" they all howled in laughter, making his cheeks turn crimson.

"Hey, let's go again," suggested Theodore. "We can move down a few blocks and start over."

"What about all this crap?" Draco indicated their booty.

"Oh, we keep it as souvenirs," said Blaise. "Trophies, if you will. Come on."

He started to lead the pack to new and better pastures, with Draco following along dragging his feet. It was fun, he had to admit as much once his heart had resumed a normal rhythm, but it seemed so wrong on so many levels…

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"I assume you've had no luck finding Mr. Dolohov," said Albus from his portrait.

"Whatever gave you that impression?" Severus returned in a nasty tone out of keeping with the innocent query.

Albus smirked as his eyes twinkled madly. Even in a portrait they had the effect of making Severus want to gouge the eyes out with a dull knife to stop that blasted _twinkling_. "Severus, my boy, perhaps it's for the best. He did no actual harm to Jacinta, and the Ministry would look askance at you if you murdered him. Besides, would it cause you to feel any better?"

"As long as he is on the loose, my daughter is in danger, so yes—it would make me feel a lot better, for your information," Snape retorted.

"No doubt aurors will capture him soon enough and he'll be back in prison where he belongs. Justice is not something to take into your own hands." Dumbledore popped a gumdrop into his mouth, to Snape's astonishment. He wasn't aware portraits could really eat…and where had the coot gotten that bowl of assorted candies he was now assiduously digging through?

_What precisely was spying all those years if not circumventing 'justice' and the established way, you codger! _Snapping himself back to reality Severus remarked, "Sometimes it is the only way to assure justice is done."

"I've asked my brother if he has any knowledge of Dolohov's whereabouts," said Albus. "Naturally he doesn't, but he did tell me that Dolohov used to come into his establishment on occasion with other Death Eaters."

"And this is helpful _how_ exactly?"

"I didn't claim it was helpful, merely an observation." Dumbledore bit into a stick of licorice. "Mmm, cherry. I thought it was raspberry."

Snape rolled his eyes so far up into his head it made him dizzy. The old fool was finally losing his mind, and it only took death to accomplish it. "Maybe I'll have a talk with Aberforth myself."

"You do that, Severus. Send him my regards." He continued mumbling to himself, "I think I may like cherry licorice even more than raspberry."

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The Hog's Head was every bit as dirty and cramped as Severus remembered it. Business had evidently picked up, for numerous patrons sat scattered around the room at various tables guzzling mugs of ale or shots of firewhiskey while Snape frowned, dusted off a barstool, and gingerly perched himself at the bar. He hoped it wasn't as infested with bacteria as it appeared…to be on the safe side he'd take an anti-bacterial potion when he got back to Hogwarts.

"Severus Snape! Quite a surprise to see you here!" commented Aberforth. The closer he got, the more his eyes bored into Snape's brain like stars gone awry.

"Yes, well I only have a few questions for you. I'm not here to imbibe."

"Suit yourself. Ask away." The older man leaned his elbows on the bar and gazed at Severus.

"Your brother told me Antonin Dolohov used to come here. Do you know who he was with?" asked Severus bluntly.

Aberforth looked up as he pursed his lips. "I've seen him with that Avery fellow and his son, and Yaxley—him and Yaxley came in here together every so often. Once in a while there'd be one or two others. Why?"

Falling back on his habitual mode of secrecy, Severus hesitated to answer. Aberforth was being straightforward and honest, something he'd rarely encountered in the wizard's illustrious brother. Even his eyes, similar as they were to Albus', didn't hold that look of hiding something. They were definitely different, to Severus' relief. It was peculiar, but nice.

"I'm searching for him. He tried to abduct my daughter."

"Ahh, I read about that," Aberforth nodded. "She's alright, yeah?"

"She's fine, but unless he's apprehended she'll never be safe. He wants me dead and he'll go to great lengths to see it happen." _Why on Earth am I telling you this?_ For some godforsaken reason, he felt that he could trust this man. Trust, the thing that came most hard for him.

"I understand. If I could help you, I would." Aberforth paused while scrutinizing Snape. "Once I overheard Yaxley talking about some hideaway, I reckon he meant for the Death Eater stuff or for one of their whores—a tryst, you know."

"Yes, I get it," said Severus. "Did you find out where?"

Aberforth shook his head. "When they spied me, they put up a silence bubble around them. If Yaxley wasn't in Azkaban, you could ask him."

But he _was_ in Azkaban , and would be for the rest of his life. Visitors of the non-family variety were prohibited, which effectively cut off any means of interrogating the Death Eater. While Ministry officials had the authority to do so, it seemed highly unlikely they'd give Snape any information they gleaned from it.

Unless…..unless he could convince Arthur Weasley to cooperate, to go to Shacklebolt. He owed Snape a huge debt for saving Percy, surely he wouldn't balk at helping capture a dangerous wizard. Then, if Arthur _happened_ to find out what the aurors discovered and passed it on to Snape, it was only fitting.

Severus smiled to himself, then said, "I think I'll have a drink after all. One ale, please."


	25. Hairy Situations

Death Eater No More—Chapter Twenty-Five (Hairy Situations)

**December 15, 1998**

Two teenagers snogging in a broom closet at Hogwarts was a fairly ordinary occurrence; sneaking into an empty classroom for the same, while not unheard of, was definitely riskier and less common, particularly when said classroom was the Potions lab. For longer than any current pupil could recall, Professor Snape had wielded an iron fist over the place, something not easily forgotten by those students who'd endured several years of the man's biting and caustic nature.

Not so Bayly Young, who since healing from his near-death experience on the broom had come to a rather amicable understanding with the young lady whose presence had instigated his fall. The two had become a pair some four weeks ago, and he wasn't going to let fear of the Headmaster spoil things, not when Gloria Livingston's objections were blatantly feeble.

"He's not even the Potions instructor anymore," he wheedled, tugging his girlfriend into the dimly lit space. "He won't be here."

"It feels creepy," she stated, snuggling up to him. "Why'd we have to come to the dungeons?"

"Because no one else will think to come here; I've heard of couples getting interrupted by other kids, and that'd be pretty embarrassing, yeah? It's just a room—an _empty_ room," Bayly said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and grinning at her. "We can transfigure a stool into a comfy bed—"

"If you think I'm planning to shag you in here or anywhere else, think again," Gloria replied drolly. "I told you I'm not that kind of girl."

"I know." Bayly encased her in his arms and kissed her neck playfully. "Doesn't hurt to try. Besides, I like who you are, which is why I want to get you alone and smooch you silly."

He proceeded to do so, planting kisses up and down her arms, over her face and neck, with her giggling and running her fingers through his short blond hair and up under his robe across his lithe, muscled torso. Neither one noticed when the door opened again, though both nearly jumped out of their uniforms at the voice.

"What the—oh, for crying out loud!" A single command turned on all the lights at once, illuminating the teens who stared like deer caught in the headlights. Aline crossed her arms over her chest, glowering at the couple in a fair imitation of Professor Snape. "You couldn't find a more private place to do this?"

"Sorry, Professor," squeaked Gloria, backing off and straightening her robes self-consciously.

"Sorry," mumbled Bayly, ducking his head and blushing. He was thankful for the outer robe hiding his excitement from the teacher….if she knew, he'd be too mortified to ever face her again. "We were only kissing, I swear."

"I should hope you weren't doing anything more," retorted Aline. The thought of students defiling her sanctuary with 'that' was too disquieting to contemplate so she shoved it out of her head. "This is a classroom, not a bedroom. In lieu of docking points from your House, which would only draw attention to your libidinous activity, you will both serve detention with me tonight. Obviously you have no pressing homework."

Neither student dared hazard a reply, though Bayly glanced over at his girlfriend with an apologetic tilt of his head and a shrug. Gloria reached out discreetly to squeeze his hand as if to say no hard feelings. She didn't blame Bayly, she wanted to snog as much as he did, and he couldn't have known the professor would show up—although she had warned him about Snape, making her partially right. And it could be much worse—it could actually have been Snape who found them!

"There's a formula on the front table. You two gather the ingredients and prepare them precisely as directed. When you've finished, let me know. I'll be grading essays." So saying, Aline walked up and flopped down at her desk, picked up her quill, opened her red ink, and began the tedious process of explaining as tactfully as she could to these third years why they were full-fledged dunderheads.

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Professor Conn's eyes had begun to cross and glaze over by the fourth parchment, in which her evidently unenlightened pupil had determined that anemone and devil's claw weren't really vital for the Sleeping Death potion; in fact, the whole potion was redundant when a massive dose of Calming Draught mixed with shredded nightshade root would do the trick. Never mind that this combination was _fatal_. She was beginning to see more and more why Snape had verbally lambasted the children on a regular basis! Those who appreciated the skill and delicacy involved in making outstanding potions were few and far between.

"Professor?"

Aline looked up from the essays, grateful for the interruption. "Yes, Bayly. Are you finished?"

In a quiet voice the boy answered, "Yes, ma'am. But I wanted to tell you something. I-I never did properly thank you. I really meant to."

"Thank me for what?" asked Aline, truly puzzled. For giving him detention? That seemed unlikely. The way he was crowding so close and lowering his voice to almost nothing made her wonder if something was wrong.

"For saving me," he said in his hushed tone, his gaze flickering to the girl across the room. "You know, that day I fell off the broom…"

Aline shook her head. "That honor goes to Madame Pomfrey."

"No, not for healing me…I mean for telling the Headmaster about my—about _him_. I was such a coward, I waited so long and he could've hurt Professor Snape. And he definitely would've kept hurting me." Bayly sounded ashamed even to his own ears; he could only guess how pathetic he must sound to the woman.

"Being afraid doesn't make you a coward, Bayly," Aline returned in a soft voice so Gloria wouldn't hear. She didn't want to embarrass him in front of his girlfriend. "Your father is a cruel, frightening man who terrorized you, but when it came right down to it you did the right thing even though you thought you'd be sent to Azkaban. That took courage. I'm very glad we found out so Dolohov can't harm you anymore, and rest assured Professor Snape can take care of himself."

"But why didn't you tell the aurors about me? You could've had me arrested," the youth continued in earnest. He locked eyes with her, trying hard to read her.

"What would be the purpose of that?" inquired Aline. "That brand didn't make you a real Death Eater, you aren't one of them. You're a nice boy who only wants to have a normal life, and that's what we wish for you."

Bayly ducked his head again, this time smiling shyly. "Thank you, Professor."

Smiling back, Aline stood up and raised her voice. "Alright, folks, let's get this show on the road. This potion isn't going to make itself."

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Clear as glass with a light shimmer of gold, scent of honey and violets; it had turned out as perfectly as any potion Aline had ever made—that is to say, it looked and smelled perfect, exactly as she'd envisioned. However, since it was her own creation and as yet untested, she couldn't say that it had been a success or failure. She held it up to the light, examining the vial proudly.

"What's it for, Professor?" asked Gloria.

"Oh….nothing important," Aline responded evasively. "I made it for the Headmaster."

"Is he sick?" Bayly leaned in over the table looking suddenly upset.

"No, no." Aline set the vial on the table. "Thank you both for helping me, you can go now. I need to finish grading those essays." _Those horridly inaccurate, depressing excuses for essays._

As the teens left the laboratory with their hands clasped together, Aline returned to her desk and spent the next half hour marking copious amounts of red ink on the hapless essays. She feared she'd need to open a new bottle with as many mistakes as she was finding, though in all fairness any nastiness in her comments paled in comparison to what they were used to from previous years. In fact, the worst of them could be called at least marginally constructive despite her intermittent desire to lash out and throttle the incompetent little wretches. Having endured Snape's grading methods in the past, the children would surely see it as a vast improvement.

An uneasy feeling crept up Aline's spine. Something wasn't right, she felt like she was being watched. She glanced up and gasped involuntarily at seeing the Headmaster standing not twenty feet away. He smirked at her reaction. How the hell did he slink in so quietly?

"Miss Conn," drawled Severus, drawing a familiar vial from his robe. "Notwithstanding I don't recall asking for your assistance, I've been informed you made this for me."

Aline's head jerked toward the table where last she'd seen her potion; it was gone. She inhaled another frantic gasp of air. Bayly must have taken it to Snape under the erroneous assumption that he was being helpful! Instinctively she reached out as if to snatch the brew back across the distance, but even an _accio_ wouldn't have wrested it from his firm grasp.

The deed had been done, all she could do was react with poise. "Give me that! I didn't send it to you!" So much for poise.

"I think not," replied Severus coolly, moving closer with a smugness that begged to be smacked off his face. He held up the tiny bottle, studying it as he walked. "Judging from the ingredients I've identified so far, it's some type of topical ointment. As I experience no skin eruptions, I'm quite curious to find out what malady you assume I possess."

Face flaming at being caught in this position, Aline rose slowly and brushed down her robes. Regardless of how she chose to present it, there was no way to avoid awkwardness and—knowing Snape's temperament—resentment.

She cleared her throat and looked directly at him. "It's my own invention, and the first time I've made it, so I can't really guarantee effectiveness."

"You're skirting the issue, Miss Conn." He jiggled the vial between thumb and forefinger before stowing it safely back in his robe pocket. "What does it do? I suffer from no illness. Were you planning to poison me, perhaps?"

_Not that anyone could blame me if I did_. "Don't be absurd. I have a reputation to uphold. And do you seriously think I'd have my students aid me if I were anticipating killing you?"

"I didn't suggest you meant to murder me," he said calmly. "There are many varied toxins from which to choose."

Aline rolled her eyes. The man was not only paranoid, he was certifiable! "At the risk of sounding mundane after your asinine conspiracy theory, it's nothing more than a concoction to de-grease your hair."

That stopped Severus in his tracks, stunned. A hair tonic? His potions mistress had gone out of her way to brew him a hair potion—no, had gone out of her way to _develop her own potion_ with which to humiliate him by referencing his perennially oily scalp? How dare she! This went beyond any boundaries of propriety, certainly beyond her duties as instructor!

In his most icy tone, which had the ability to freeze a small pond, Snape growled, "If I had desired a hair tonic, I am perfectly capable of creating my own."

In a steady voice Aline responded, building up steam as she went, "Lest you forget, Headmaster, I did not give you that potion, you weren't even supposed to know about it. But in my defense, it was done out of a desire to be _kind_, something you are evidently unacquainted with. I had hoped to eliminate your _problem_ so the students would stop calling you a greasy git of a bat!" She finished with a huff and crossed her arms, waiting for his rebuttal.

"My _problem_ is none of your business. And since such remedies are only temporary, they are for all intents and purposes useless. Your presumption defies belief."

With a sinking in her stomach she realized she had hurt his feelings! She hadn't meant to, it was all a mistake. In a near whisper she replied, "It isn't only a scalp tonic to constrict the oil glands. It must also be ingested over a period of a few weeks to reduce the secretion internally. If the formula is correct, the repair will be permanent."

Severus glowered at her with all the animosity he could muster—a substantial amount to be sure—yet she didn't even flinch. He did, however, detect a weakness in her stance. She hadn't given him the accursed potion because she knew bloody well he'd be insulted, and rightfully so! The grudging respect he had for her skills aside, she had no _right_!

"In the future, Miss Conn, I suggest you take into consideration the opinions of the recipients of your _beneficence_. Not everyone appreciates having offensive _gifts_ thrust upon them." He whirled with his robes swirling about him and stalked out, his lips pinched together so hard a white line shone around them.

Aline took a deep breath and collapsed into her chair. That couldn't have gone worse if she'd planned it. Why had Bayly taken the potion without asking her? She'd wanted to wait until she and Snape had at least a civil relationship. She'd been hoping to have an adult, polite conversation with Snape concerning his overactive ducts, then offer to have him try the new potion. But no, that would have been too easy; this wasn't Fantasy World, it was Hogwarts. What was a conversation with the Headmaster unless it ended in vitriol?

They'd started off on the wrong foot from day one, and things hadn't really gotten any better. When she'd finally begun to perceive a glimmer of decency in him—in the way he treated Bayly and cared about him, that is—she'd decided to make the first move to heal the divisions between them, and instead he now hated her more than ever. For some reason she couldn't quite fathom, it made her sad.

"I was just trying to be nice," she said to the empty room.

Snape stomped to his quarters, fuming all the way. It wasn't until he arrived and was removing his outer robe he noticed the small bottle still tucked in the pocket where he'd forgotten he put it. He scowled again. He contemplated blasting it with his wand, yet instead found himself placing it in his cabinet with a multitude of other potions, then staring pensively at it with more interest than he cared to admit. For some reason he couldn't quite fathom, it intrigued him.

"I must get a look at that formula," he mused aloud.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Narcissa put her spoon back in her sundae dish and gave an admonishing smile to her husband. "Don't you dare start petting my belly. We are in a public place."

Lucius slowly withdrew the hand that had been creeping in her direction, his grey eyes wide with feigned innocence. The fact that they were in an ice cream parlor in Diagon Alley notwithstanding, the allure of his pregnant wife's nearly eight-month bulge was difficult to resist. "But I love you," he protested lamely.

"It's embarrassing, and I feel enough like a cow."

"Honey, you're exquisite! Our baby growing inside you makes you all the more beautiful, and to feel it kicking and moving…" A faraway look overtook him. "I can't help myself."

"You always know what to say, don't you?" Narcissa leaned in to run a hand over his brow, his cheeks, his loose hair tumbling around his fair face. "What would I do without you?"

"God willing, you'll never have to find out." All at once his content expression became cold, morphed into the mask he wore around those not worthy of viewing his true self. "Mr. Potter. To what do we owe this honor?"

Narcissa cranked around in her chair to see Harry coming up behind her. "Hello, Harry. How are you?"

He treaded up to stand beside the table, fidgeting nervously. "I'm very fine, thank you, Mrs. Malfoy. I expect you're well."

The witch smiled and stroked her large abdomen. "As well as can be expected in this condition."

Harry's eyes dropped to the belly for only a second. "Congratulations, by the way. I saw you in here and thought I'd like to say hello." _And commence to feeling like an arse._ What was he thinking? Even though Narcissa had turned out to be nice enough, insinuating himself into the Malfoy circle even for a moment felt hideously awkward, especially with Lucius giving him that fake polite face. Why didn't the older wizard's eyes seem to be shooting daggers like usual? How odd.

"It's kind of you to inquire after us," replied Narcissa, ever the gracious hostess even where no party existed. "Harry, while you're here, I'd like to express our appreciation again for helping Lucius and Draco. And…I'd—we'd like to invite you to our Christmas Ball next week."

"Oh." That was unexpected, like a baseball to the skull. Potter glanced at Lucius, who no doubt had no desire to see Harry at his party or anywhere else, but the man's face was blank. The idea that Malfoy might be changing—well, that was ludicrous. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater….right? But Snape was different now….

"Harry?" prompted Narcissa. "Was that a yes?"

"Oh, er—sure. Yeah. I'd like to come." _Almost as much as I'd like to shove a flaming fork in my eye._ "Um, can I bring a date?"

"Of course! We'll look forward to seeing you there." She patted Lucius' leg, knowing full well he'd have something to say later about inviting the brat-who-lived. Well let him argue! That brat had saved Lucius from Azkaban and killed the dark lord, and if getting him to their party raised people's opinion of the Malfoys, Lucius couldn't object!

"Darling, will you excuse me?" Lucius rose and inclined his head slightly at Harry. "Potter, I trust you'll keep my wife company until I return." Without bothering to wait for a response, he strode off outside where Arthur and Molly Weasley were approaching and peering into the shop.

"Hello, Arthur, Molly." Lucius positioned himself right in their path.

"Lucius," they replied guardedly, looking both uncomfortable and bemused.

"Forgive me, Molly. I'd like to speak with your husband privately if I may," said Lucius.

"I don't see why not. We were searching for Harry, and there he is. I'll go on in and join them." She smiled at Arthur as she darted around Lucius.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" asked Arthur. He backed off out of sight of the parlor windows, forcing Lucius to follow.

Before responding, Lucius removed his wand from the shaft of his cane, enjoying the perverse pleasure he got from the fear that flitted through Weasley's eyes. He cast a silence charm then announced plainly, "Severus told me you were to contact Minister Shacklebolt concerning the interrogation of Yaxley. Might I inquire as to the progress of this investigation?"

"I don't see that it's your business," said Arthur.

"Jacinta's safety and the capture of a dangerous criminal is everyone's business."

Unable to dispute this basic premise, Arthur shrugged as he conceded, "I don't know whatever came of it. No one will tell me anything."

Lucius studied the man through half-lidded eyes. He was lying, he had to be. If Weasley thought for one moment he could deceive a Malfoy, he'd best think again. And if he imagined Lucius wouldn't find out the information on his own, he was more of a fool than Lucius gave him credit for, a difficult task to accomplish indeed. There were still plenty of contacts at the Ministry who could be bribed, and Lucius was the perfect wizard for the job.

"Have they interrogated Yaxley?" insisted Lucius.

"I believe so. Like I said, I'm not in the loop."

That was really all Lucius needed to know. If Yaxley had been questioned—and most probably he had been, for the Ministry wished to capture Dolohov as much as Snape did—the information gathered had proven useless, as the continued freedom of Dolohov demonstrated. Nonetheless, it was crucial to find out exactly what they'd learned in order to decide on how to move from there.

"I'd thank you for your help, had you given any," Lucius commented snidely, removing the silence bubble. "Although I am hard pressed to understand why you aren't trying harder to protect Severus' daughter after he saved your son. Perhaps due to my own generous nature I give you too much credit."

He flashed a cold smile that touched only the corners of his mouth, spun on his heel, and marched back to the parlor clicking his cane on the pavement with each step. He encountered Molly and Harry coming out and gallantly held the door for them, then tried to brush past without touching them.

The first look at his wife's face made his stomach leap; she was ill, she seemed ready to cry or vomit or both. Lucius rushed over to her, only to be met with an accusing, "Why did you leave me alone with them?"

"I'm sorry, love, I needed to speak with Weasley. It won't happen again. Did they say something to you?" He was crouched protectively over her, arms drawn around her from behind, his chin resting on the top of her head. He kissed her tenderly as he squeezed and rocked her. "It's alright."

"No, it isn't!" Narcissa cried. She turned her head, pulling him round to face her stricken countenance. "I don't know what came over me, it just popped out. I invited Molly and Arthur to the ball!"


	26. Play Nice, Children

Death Eater No More—Chapter Twenty-Six (Play Nice, Children)

**December 20, 1998**

"You're joking, right? You're bloody joking!" Lucius fumed. He quickened his pace to match Narcissa's as the latter fled into the main sitting room in an attempt to escape his remonstration. Her pregnant waddle, however, was no match for his long stride and he easily overtook her.

At last, accepting her inability to outrun him, Narcissa wheeled and stared him right in the eye, chin up, defiant. "I'm not joking. I have every right."

"My love, are you _trying_ to kill me? Because I can think of less painful ways." Lucius drew his wand from his robe and held it out to her. "Here, put the wand to my temple and say _avada ked_—"

"Stop it!" she shrieked. She snatched the wand and flung it across the room. It smacked the wall and clattered to the floor. "Just stop it! You don't always have to be sarcastic and dramatic!"

One blond eyebrow quirked upward. "I don't? How long have you known me?"

"Long enough to watch you grow colder over the years, to see you become jaded and bitter in the service of that repulsive Voldemort," she spat back.

Lucius drew back as though struck. The expressionless mask reserved for outsiders snapped into place on his face. "I did what I had to do to survive. I deeply regret that my continued existence offends you."

"See? You're doing it again! I never said you offend me, and I honestly can't blame you for hardening your heart," Narcissa said, softening her tone as her eyes traced the contours of his face, the face she loved so much it made her weak inside. "I just miss that innocent boy who worshipped me, who wasn't afraid to buck authority or rules and do what he wanted."

Lucius let the mask drop, stepped forward, and pulled her into his arms. "I still worship you," he whispered. As for innocence—well, that had been beaten and tortured out of him, had been subdued by the cruel acts he'd been forced to perform as a member of Voldemort's cadre. Yes, he was harder, colder, bitter, he didn't deny any of that; who could live so long among the Death Eaters without developing such a shell?

Her voice muffled against his chest, Narcissa replied, "Then why are you picking on me?"

"I'm not, sweetheart, I'm questioning your choice of guests. First _Potter_—agreed, his presence can only enhance our reputation, so I applaud you on that one. But the _Weasleys_? They're uncouth bumpkins and blood traitors! And how, pray tell, did it slip your mind to inform me you'd invited _Andromeda_?"

"I told you I didn't mean to invite the Weasleys, it just happened," Narcissa retorted, bristling and pushing away from him. "Andy is my sister and I have the right to invite her. I hardly ever see her. I didn't tell you before because I knew you'd throw a tantrum."

"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?" taunted a smirking Lucius in reference to his wife's earlier outburst. "No slur intended on your family name. As for tantrums, you haven't seen me throw one—"

"Give it a rest, Lucius," commanded Abraxas from his portrait near the fireplace. Both of them looked over at the patriarch who glared imperiously at his son. "Your wife is heavy with child, she doesn't need your nonsense."

Flabbergasted not that Abraxas should take Narcissa's part, for he'd almost always done that, but that he'd pass an opportunity to impugn scum of the Earth, Lucius clarified a bit louder, "Father, she's overrunning our mansion with blood traitors!"

"I'm not deaf, son, you needn't shout." Abraxas sighed, a slow, tired heaving of breath that carried an enormous weight in it. "If there's one thing I've learned from dying, it's that death is the great equalizer. Blood status makes no difference."

Lucius stopped in his tracks to gape for a long moment as his world crashed down around his ears. Certainly hell had taken a good chill, for his father would never in his wildest dreams proclaim something so ridiculous! "Are you saying you renounce everything you taught me about blood purity and faithfulness to our kind? About our superiority?"

Abraxas snorted and peered at him for signs of dementia. "No! I'm saying we all die, so there's no point in making life more difficult while you're here. I firmly believe that if the pureblood lines die out, so will magical knowledge because we are the true keepers. That said, society is changing and you must adapt. For the sake of your family—for that unborn child—you must learn to coexist peacefully with the halfbreeds and mudbloods."

"That's what I've been trying to tell him," Narcissa interjected. "I dislike a mudblood as much as anyone does, but he thinks I'm being hypocritical to embrace other purebloods like my sister who turned their backs on our heritage."

"So live and let live and we'll all be a big, happy bunch of simpletons?" said Lucius sarcastically.

"You're lucky I can't slap you," growled Abraxas.

"Lucius Caleb Malfoy, you listen to your father!" scolded the normally mild Thalia. It had the effect of shaming the younger man, since she used his full name only when her dander was up, which wasn't often. "Naturally we wish to continue our bloodline, but we also want our family to be happy, not ostracized."

"No, Mother, you want me to accept all manner of filth into my life and to pretend it doesn't bother me. Well, it does! And it's not like I'm out there murdering the riffraff, I only want them to stay away from me."

"Don't take that tone with your mother," warned Abraxas.

"My sister is as pureblooded as you are!" snapped Narcissa. "She's not riffraff!"

"She's not one of us anymore!" Lucius countered.

"_Lucius_!" Everyone else turned to look aghast at Thalia who never, to anyone's recollection, had raised her voice to a shout. The woman's lips were pinched in a pout as she glared daggers at her son.

"Yes, Mother?" he answered meekly.

"None of us here disputes the fact that purebloods are superior; I would that all witches and wizards were like us. Your father and I grew up with that doctrine in the forefront, and you were taught the same—sadly, to your detriment. We couldn't anticipate the war and social upheaval that left blood traitors and halfbreeds running society, but there's nothing you can do about it. The war is lost, yet you must go on and thrive."

Thalia paused to collect her thoughts, leaving the others wondering where this was going. Her eyes, tender and loving now, rested on her only remaining child. "You are a Malfoy; exploit your opportunities, Lucius. Teach your children the truth of their heritage and make sure they marry purebloods, but steer them from hate. They can pity the blood traitors, mudbloods, and Muggles, but they must get along with them or they'll be social rejects in this perverse new order. Our name will never regain its prestige if you fail. You must do this for them."

Lucius shook his head slowly as if in a daze. "I can't believe my own mother is ordering me to mingle with undesirables."

"I wouldn't make it a habit," said Thalia drolly. "Just enough to secure your rightful place in the social order. I happen to know you're no stranger to subterfuge, my son. You should have little trouble."

Abraxas abandoned his frame to enter his wife's, where he sat down practically on her lap to cuddle with her with a great smile on his face. "Isn't your mother wise? That's why I married her." She looked askance at him and he chuckled. "That and a plethora of other reasons."

The younger Malfoy pondered for a long moment on all that had been said. His mother had a valid point: if Draco and the unborn child had any hope of shaking off the Death Eater mantle he'd thrown over them and of being accepted and advancing in this new world, Lucius would have to play the game according to their rules. For himself he would flatly refuse; for his children he'd walk through fire and hell, he'd die if it came down to it. Fortunately, death wasn't required of him, only deception. He could handle that.

Turning to Narcissa, Lucius beamed a smile that could melt the heart of any woman in the vicinity. "You win, love. I'll behave at your party. I'll be so charming and agreeable to our guests they'll think that I've had a lobotomy. Come, let's get ready for the ball."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

A Malfoy party wouldn't be considered a success unless attended by hundreds of the most influential members of the wizarding community; this ball assuredly qualified as successful. Aside from the guest list including the Minister of Magic, Harry Potter, and various members of the Wizengamot, scores of couples twirled around the dance floor of the Malfoy ballroom accompanied by a live band playing traditional Christmas tunes as well as waltzes and other genteel pieces. Many more either lined the walls chatting and drinking, or sat at various gaily decorated tables doing the same, or mingled about through the room.

Draco and his cohorts fit into the 'standing and drinking' category, he in a deep green set of robes, Daphne decked out in a pale yellow gown that matched his hair. In his glass was firewhiskey diluted with melted ice; he took a sip now and then to keep up appearances, mindful of his father's warning against drunkenness.

Lucius had, in fact, placed his hands on the lad's shoulders before the party as he regarded him critically and absently picked miniscule bits of lint off his robes while quietly lecturing him on conducting himself appropriately—like a Malfoy—and on keeping his friends under control lest Narcissa become upset. The implication, of course, was that if Narcissa were upset, Lucius would be upset. No further warning was necessary, neither of them wanted to advance that scenario.

"Hey, Draco, better tell your parents to hire an exterminator," laughed Blaise. "Looks like you've got an infestation of weasels!" He howled at his own cleverness and pointed toward one entrance where Harry, Ginny, Molly, and Arthur had just come in, all of them gawking in awe at the splendor everywhere they turned.

Draco's head jerked in their direction and his features hardened, but he said coolly, "Mother invited them."

"What was she thinking?" asked Daphne, wrinkling her nose.

"Maybe she was thinking it's time purebloods stop acting like uptight prats," said a voice behind them. Jacinta came walking up hand in hand with Theodore Nott, whose smitten eyes scarcely left her even when he casually greeted the crew. Her light brown hair was swept up in a chignon and she wore a strapless red gown that set off her slim figure to its best advantage.

The utter dismay permeating the little group felt palpable, not only at what she'd said, but by the fact that she and Theo seemed awfully cozy all of a sudden. She smirked at their discomposure, which didn't last long.

"You've no right to talk. You're not even a Mulciber," Blaise retorted nastily.

'_You're not even a pureblood as you passed yourself off for so long'_ may as well have been what he said, for it was implicitly understood by every youth there. Draco shifted nervously; he'd crossed Jacinta a few times when they were children, he knew her better than the rest did.

"And you couldn't wait to blab it to everyone, could you, Blaise?" replied Jacinta calmly. Her blue eyes pierced him hatefully. "You and your cohorts Pansy and Daphne."

Looking vaguely uncomfortable, Daphne protested, "Well, it's true! It's not like we lied, and we didn't mean any harm."

"I don't really care, to be honest," Jacinta responded, shrugging. "It's done, there's no point in crying over it, but I won't allow myself to be treated like a leper or insulted to my face."

"Would you rather we do it behind your back?" snickered Blaise, eliciting an appreciative giggle from Daphne.

Theo stepped up, his brown eyes stormy, and he shoved Blaise in the chest hard enough to nearly topple him over backward. "If I hear you say one word about Jacinta, I'll punch your head in."

"That's enough," Draco growled, glancing furtively around in hopes no one noticed the commotion. "No one's going to pick on Jacinta."

"I don't need you guys to defend me," said Jacinta. She smiled at Draco and Theo and patted their arms. "But thank you both. You're very gallant."

"You are my cousin—kind of," Draco replied with a hint of a grin. "It's my job."

Blaise turned up his nose and sulked off to find more firewhiskey while Daphne attached herself to Draco's arm in a near death grip, afraid her words had caused her to fall into disfavor with him. He shook his arm violently to break free, prompting a petulant gasp from her.

"So where's your—where's Uncle Severus?" asked Draco, who'd seen the Mulcibers not half an hour ago. It felt strange to call Severus Jacinta's father after all the years of pretending.

"He's not coming. When he heard Potter and the Weasleys would be here, he oddly enough found some heretofore neglected duties to attend to at Hogwarts."

"Where's Pansy?" Theo asked. "I thought she and Goyle were coming."

Trying to pass off her injured air, Daphne returned breezily, "She has the flu. Gregory is hovering over her like a mother hen."

"It's pitiful how he babies her," Draco sniffed.

Daphne scowled. "I think it's sweet. He really loves her and isn't afraid to show it, unlike _you_."

"When I find a girl I really love, I won't be afraid to show it, either," snapped Draco.

"Oh!" Daphne stamped her foot, whirled, and stormed off. A few steps later she stomped back, slapped Draco across the face, then spun round to head out.

Face flaming with embarrassment and from the handprint on his cheek, Draco lifted his eyes to Theo and Jacinta, both of whom looked simultaneously shocked and amused. "Hey, it wouldn't be a Malfoy party without histrionics, would it?" he quipped. He downed his tumbler in one gulp.

"Are you sure you wanted to do that, Draco?" ventured Jacinta cautiously. "I mean, it looked like you deliberately insulted her."

The young man gazed off in the direction Daphne had huffed off. "We haven't been dating that long and she's just got really clingy," confessed Draco. "And the truth is, I—uh…I kind of like her sister, but she's only sixteen and still in school."

"Well, that's awkward," said Nott. He brightened and smiled slyly. "If you start going out with Astoria, you can compare which sister is better in bed."

Draco rolled his eyes at the same time Jacinta did. Were all their friends so blasted obsessed with sex? "I never shagged Daphne, you dolt. My family is very proper about these matters."

"Ah, I see," Theo answered. "You're still a virgin then?"

"So are you!" Draco retorted. "And if you're anything like Uncle Severus said your dad was, you will be until your wedding day!"

"Would you guys shut it?" Jacinta snarled. "I'm so sick of men going on about shagging girls."

Draco sidled up to the young woman and put an arm round her shoulders, speaking to her like an imbecile. "Technically, dear, we were talking about NOT shagging them. Try to keep up."

"He's got ya there, Cinta," Theo chortled.

"I told you not to call me that."

Theo returned a blank stare as if that request had never made it past his ear canal and had certainly never lodged in his brain.

"_Anyway_," Draco went on, "as for Astoria, I think it wise to wait until she's at least of age before I approach her, probably best if she's out of school. By then Daphne won't be mad anymore."

The three of them laughed.

"Let's go talk to Harry Potter," Jacinta proposed with a twinkle in her eye. The two young men stiffened and gaped at her like she'd grown horns. "Come on, I've heard about him all my life but never met him."

"You're not missing anything, trust me," grumbled Draco.

Jacinta gripped Theo's bicep in an iron hand that felt more like an eagle talon and dragged him with her across the floor with Draco following alongside out of morbid curiosity. Snape no doubt had filled her head with terrible images of the little puke, all of them profoundly insightful and accurate, yet at Beauxbatons she must have been inundated with a sickening lovefest for the boy wonder. The poor girl's mind!

She shoved her way through the noisy throng surrounding Harry and the Weasley bunch, who were huddled together looking extremely out of place despite the new clothes Harry had purchased for them for the occasion. Obviously people had lost no time in cornering Harry once they recognized him, as they did everywhere he went. To her surprise, he was smaller and thinner than she'd imagined.

Jacinta tapped Harry on the shoulder and he turned; a wariness crept into his features at seeing Draco beyond her. "Hello, Harry Potter. I'm Jacinta Snape Mulciber." She thrust out a hand which he stared at guardedly before taking.

"Hello, Jacinta. You can call me Harry." All at once her introduction wormed its way into his brain and it hit him who this girl was. "You're Snape's daughter!"

"Yes, apparently no one in the wizarding world forgoes reading the paper," she replied dryly. "Word does travel fast."

"I—I don't know what to say. When I was in school I thought your dad hated me, and there was no way I could picture him having a kid. _Eating_ a kid, maybe," he laughed, though Jacinta only smiled graciously. Harry blinked several times and studied her anew. "Sorry. It's surreal to see you actually standing here."

"I'm real, I assure you. And I concede that my father can be….testy," she said, grasping for a word that wasn't too harsh.

Her companions had no compunctions about tossing out such descriptions.

"And surly," added Draco, elbowing her playfully in the side.

"And peevish," snickered Theo.

Jacinta turned her Snape-inherited glower on them and their mouths snapped shut. "I just wanted to introduce myself and congratulate you on killing Voldemort." _Even if it was pure luck_, she thought, echoing her sire's sentiments. She wholly expected Potter to dive into a detailed expounding of his glorious deed which funneled full credit directly to himself, so she was understandably disconcerted when his reply did nothing of the kind.

"Thanks, but your dad played a huge part. Without his years of protecting me and helping the Order, I don't think we'd have been victorious," Harry admitted.

His sincerity shining through broke a chink in Jacinta's armor. Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world and bane of her father's existence, stood here brazenly complimenting Severus Snape in front of dozens of witnesses and he wasn't here to see it! Drat the luck! "I'm sure my father will be pleased and utterly discombobulated to hear that."

"What have we here? Chatting with our guests, Draco?" Lucius drawled as he came up from the side, smiling broadly. Only his eyes—to those who knew him well—betrayed a hint of his true feelings. "Ah, Mr. Potter, how lovely to see you again. Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Uh….yeah, I guess so." He sent a confused look around the circle: was he the only one to notice Mr. Malfoy acting _nice_? Maybe the former Death Eater was drunk….

"Molly, Arthur, always a pleasure. Molly, what a stunning gown! It does you justice," Lucius purred. For a split second his smile became real at witnessing their shock. He hoped they didn't wet themselves from excitement, but with the lowbrow crowd one could never be too careful. "Who is this delightful young lady?"

"I'm Ginny Weasley," said Ginny, not smiling at all. "You remember—you put Voldemort's old diary in my cauldron and nearly got me killed."

"Ginny, dear, we're guests here," admonished Molly quietly. "We have no proof of that."

"I do prefer not to revisit those old, _unfounded_ accusations," Lucius replied evenly, his smile still plastered tight to his face. "The war is over, it's time for a fresh new start. Please feel free to help yourselves to the buffet. The drink bar is on the opposite side. If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to ask." He made the minutest motion at Draco; best get him away from the brat-who-lived before their inherent animosity got the best of them. "Son, have you made it a point to greet the Claytons?"

As expected, Draco hurriedly excused himself as Lucius whisked on by, his skin crawling from the stench of traitors. And it wasn't over, he had yet to greet Andromeda; he'd been on his way to do so when he stopped to acknowledge the Weasleys. He gave a light shudder. Nonetheless, he must keep his promise to Narcissa and behave even if it made him sick to his stomach or killed him. Any other time he might fall on that promise, but not with his wife in her delicate condition. At least he'd been spared speaking with that belligerent Arthur, whose very existence was an affront to humanity. No small wonder his ungrateful redheaded weaselette had inherited his boorish manners.

"Narcissa, my beloved." He tenderly kissed her cheek, then lifted Andromeda's hand to his lips. "Welcome, Andromeda. It's been a long time."

"A very long time," Andy confirmed. The last time she'd seen Lucius had been many years ago when he'd ordered her off his property while castigating Narcissa for allowing her to visit—in the orchard, mind you, not even in the mansion….yet here she was in the ballroom at his party. It didn't add up despite his oh-so-polite smile.

"Please accept my condolences on the loss of your daughter and husband." _Wretched halfblood and mudblood. Good riddance to them._

"Thank you," said Andy softly, lowering her eyes.

Narcissa leaned against him and squeezed his hand, the expression of joy in her face too precious to try to squelch with snide comments. "Lucius, you've been so wonderful. Because of all that's happened, I've invited Andy and Teddy to stay here at Malfoy Manor for a few weeks. I hope you don't mind."

For a second Lucius' world went black and he felt like he was swaying and falling, but a sharp cry from Narcissa brought him around, to find he was clinging to Andy for dear life. Mortified, he jerked back and stood up smoothing his robes self-consciously. "Forgive me. I stumbled."

"Really?" answered Andy smugly. "From where I stand, I could swear you almost fainted."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Bayly lay on his bed and watched his three roommates hustling to pack last minute items into their trunks, chattering excitedly about going home for Christmas and all the fun they'd have. He'd stowed his own necessities in a backpack the day before, as was customary at Durmstrang so that there were no stragglers when time was of the essence.

Time mattered little now. According to the note clutched in his hand, Mum would be coming to get him, he wasn't to take the train. In a way he found it rather a relief, since he had few friends and he'd never been on the train; he hadn't looked forward to a long journey being stuck with people he didn't like. Of course, Gloria would be there…for that reason alone he'd have braved anything else. Nevertheless, whatever he'd hoped or wished for paled into irrelevance. Mum insisted it was for his safety, and he'd always obeyed his mother.

"Looks like it's time to go," one of the boys said. "Happy Christmas, Bayly."

"You, too, Floyd," responded Bayly. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Happy Christmas to all of you."

With the other boys' well wishes ringing in his ears, he set out in search of Gloria. Even though they'd exchanged gifts and said their goodbyes last night, he needed to see her again. It might be a full month before he saw her again; what with his father—that damned Dolohov—on the loose, Mum and the aurors would see to it he wasn't permitted to leave the house unattended. That was one thing he didn't need to impress his girl—some Ministry officials crowding along on a date!

He pushed his way through the jostling crowd of students on the platform, his hazel eyes diligently scanning for the young lady. He was tall enough to see over most of the younger kids, yet caught not a glimpse of his lovely. What if she was already on the train? He didn't see her anywhere!

A hand slid into his from behind and he spun around both startled and smiling, coming face to face with the pretty brunette. "I was looking for you," he admitted.

"Yeah, I figured," Gloria responded with her own goofy smile. He was so sweet, so good to her, so—not like the other boys who viewed her either as a sisterly tomboy (i.e., her Quidditch mates) or a conquest (i.e., the rest of the male population). Soon enough each boy she dated had found out she was not easy, nor was she to be trifled with, leaving her to brood over men and their stupid libido-driven minds.

Then Bayly had come along to turn her life upside down. Only he appreciated and encouraged her athletic skills as well as her physical attributes and intellect. In short, he adored her and she adored him in kind. He could do more on a broom than any Quidditch player she'd ever known, and even if he weren't as book smart as most of the Ravenclaws he was by no means dumb, and he was loyal and affectionate…and that dreamy face and body didn't hurt his cause.

Bayly pulled her in close, ignoring the hoots and jeers of passing students as he crushed her in his arms, closing his eyes to shut out the commotion around them. It felt so good just to hold her and smell her hair and feel her breathing against him. "I'll miss you so much," he whispered directly into her ear.

"I'll miss you more," she answered with tears springing to her eyes.

The young wizard pulled away only when the conductor called for boarding. The tears sliding down her cheeks made him want to bawl himself, but that wasn't manly so he merely wiped them off gently and kissed each cheek, then her lips.

"Write to me," he said.

"I will," she promised in a quivering voice.

Bayly stood on the platform while the rest of the students clamored onto the train; he was still standing there gazing into the distance long after the train had gone and there was no one left, when forlorn silence engulfed the place. Finally he sighed, turned around, and trooped back to his room.

Because he had nothing else to do except study, and not being a Ravenclaw at heart that held no appeal whatsoever, he flopped down on top of his bed to nap in order to pass the time before his mother was to come. The previous night of tossing and turning caught up to him and he soon fell into a deep slumber, to awake with a start. It was dusk already, he'd slept later than he meant to! He jumped off the bed, snatched his backpack and slung it over his shoulder, and ran down the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower, through the castle, and across the grounds to the outer edge of the property to the open gate, which seemed strangely vacant.

Slowing to a walk, he approached cautiously. Why wasn't Mum here yet? Had she gone to the Headmaster's office to ask after him? "Mum, are you there?" he called.

From out of the nearby bushes came a rustling and a snap of a twig. "You're late, boy."

In a heartbeat Bayly jerked his hand and his wand sprang out of its wrist holster into his fingers. The cloaked, hooded figure laughed and shot a _stunning_ spell that reached the boy in the same instant. Bayly flew backward, sprawled unconscious on the ground; his wand landed several meters away.

The figure stalked over and pocketed the wand, doubled back to grip the pack in one hand, then took hold of Bayly and disapparated.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

At last, the majority of Hogwarts' pubescent ninnies had cheerfully liberated themselves for the Christmas holiday, for which Snape counted his blessings. Now he could finally sit down and study the hair tonic formula he'd _happened_ to come across while skulking through Aline Conn's desk in the dead of night. Certainly he hadn't removed the formula, for that would alert the professor that someone had been rifling through—er, had been peeking in—her things. He'd instead made a detailed copy, returned the original parchment to its place, and gone about his business.

He withdrew the paper from his drawer, set it in front of him, and began to browse the ingredient list, smirking to himself at the seemingly hodgepodge, afterthought way of making notes. Nonetheless, he knew Aline to be thorough and meticulous and her potions excellently wrought—though only severe torture might wrench the words from his throat—so he supposed he'd suffer through it.

_Myrrh powder, one pinch per ounce of walnut (pre-steeping weight)_

_Black walnut leaves, steeped for twenty minutes; discard leaves, measure one cup of tea_

_Marshmallow plant, whole including root, washed with white wine (__not red__ under any circumstance)_

_Cedarwood, ground finely but not powdered, two pinches not equaling a dash_

Miss Conn didn't make it simple to duplicate one of her recipes, did she? On it went, with Severus pausing every so often to consider a particular substance that seemed out of place, and each time his intuition told him it was perfectly plausible since she'd indicated the potion was both topical and ingested—a fine balance, really, when some plants tended to be poisonous if taken internally while working wonders on the skin surface. Most interesting.

"Hello. Excuse me, Headmaster."

Severus looked up at Livonia Young, who appeared quite distraught. He rose automatically. "Miss Young. What can I do for you?"

"It's Bayly. He wasn't on the train, I waited till everyone was gone and he wasn't there." Her voice rose to an hysterical high. "Is he here?"

The normally serious expression on Severus' face became downright grave. "I don't believe so. He isn't listed as staying over the holidays."

He strode rapidly to the fireplace, threw in some floo powder, and stuck his head into the burning pit. "Professor Flitwick! I have urgent business to discuss."

A few moments later the tiny professor's face appeared in the coals. "Is something wrong, Severus?"

"Did Bayly Young remain behind today?"

"No. I've checked all the students' rooms, only those signed up to stay are here. Why?"

"I'm coming over." Severus pulled his head out of the fire and motioned for Livonia to join him. Together they floo'd into Flitwick's office, where the diminutive wizard stood dressed in a furry bathrobe and sky blue pajamas.

"Severus, what's going on?" piped Flitwick.

"That is precisely what I intend to find out. Professor, this is Bayly's mother. He didn't arrive on the train, and I'd like to see his room."

By now all three wore grim expressions. They marched out of the office, up the stairs, and down the hall; Flitwick threw open a door on the left. "This is his room."

"_Lumos_." Snape walked in, wand drawn, surveying the area like enemy territory. All was quiet. It looked to be an ordinary, empty dormitory room. He wandered slowly through, studying everything. "I believe Mr. Young is seeing a young lady in your house—Miss Livingston. Did she remain behind?"

"No, she left with the other pupils."

"Do you think it possible he went with her?"

"No, sir. Her parents are very strict, they'd never allow a strange boy to come home with their daughter."

Livonia stifled a panicked sob and followed Severus into the room. This was Bayly's room, but he wasn't here…he wasn't with his girlfriend. Where could he be? "Do you think—do you think he might be somewhere in the castle?"

"I'll have The Grey Lady take a look," answered Flitwick.

"Don't bother," said Severus quietly. He turned to them holding a bit of crumpled parchment he'd picked up from the nightstand next to the bed with a disheveled duvet, and silently handed it to Livonia.

_Dear Bayly,_

_Don't take the train tomorrow, I'll come pick you up. The aurors said it's safer this way, for you to apparate home with me. They also said don't respond to this letter, it may be intercepted. Meet me outside the main gate at five o'clock._

_Mum_

The witch burst into tears as she slid to the floor gripping the paper. "I didn't write this! I didn't—Bayly!" Her sobs overwhelmed her and she laid her head on her arms crying uncontrollably.

Severus looked at Flitwick, who stared back in complete horror. Only one man they knew would bother to concoct a scheme like this, would have any motivation whatsoever to kidnap or harm Bayly. Vengeance was a staple of diehard Death Eaters, and none was more vindictive than Dolohov; Bayly had turned on him and sicked the aurors on him, it was only logical he'd seek to exact revenge.

"I'll contact the Ministry," Severus murmured. "Filius, if you'd take care of Miss Young." He hurried out, cursing himself for his lack of vigilance and cursing Dolohov for everything under the sun. If the boy died, and it may already have come to that, he'd never forgive himself.


	27. Nightmares and Visions

Death Eater No More—Chapter Twenty-Seven (Nightmares and Visions)

**December 20, 1998**

Apparating across the Atlantic Ocean to the States had been a breeze when the dark lord was alive. The Dark Mark had guided his followers, helped to carry them, as it were, so that they could jump the distance in one grand leap. Not so now. Not only was the process slow and laborious with the need to take a circuitous route by apparating shorter distances from one land mass to another, but dragging a semi-conscious companion along made it a frustratingly annoying and delicate task. Stopping to allow said companion to heave violently from the strain of it didn't help matters.

Dolohov let Bayly fall to his knees to upchuck, though he kept hold of the boy in the event he took it in his head to try to escape. The invisible ropes binding his hands and feet precluded running away, not apparating away. Not that Dolohov worried too much about it; the kid had no idea where he was, he'd have a devil of a time finding his way home, and practically no chance of leading anyone back.

By the time they reached the old decrepit farmhouse that had been used as the dark lord's Headquarters for a time several years back, Dolohov was fatigued from the energy expenditure. Bayly certainly looked the worse for wear. He dragged the boy inside and flung him backward toward a single wooden chair next to a ramshackle table with a broken leg. Bayly crashed into the table, landing a deep bruise to his ribs, and rolled off onto the unyielding chair.

Despite the fact that there were no houses or neighbors anywhere nearby, Dolohov considered casting a silencing charm around the building, then rejected the notion. He'd have preferred to take the brat into the caves beneath the house, those built by the master, but Lord Voldemort had sealed them up before moving to the castle in Scotland. He didn't for a moment presume he possessed the skills to break through the dark lord's wards. This would have to do.

He took a step in Bayly's direction and the boy flinched. "What's the matter, Bayly? You scared your daddy's gonna make you pay for being a turncoat little bastard?"

Bayly glared at him with eyes full of hatred and fright.

"Answer me!" Dolohov stormed over and whacked him across the temple.

"Yes."

Another hard slap. "Yes _what_?"

"Yes, sir." With how fast Bayly's heart was thudding in his chest, he felt sure it would explode. This couldn't be happening, it was a nightmare like the ones he occasionally had about his 'delightful' summer with his father. Except the pain in his nightmares didn't hurt like this, and his mouth didn't taste of vomit, and he usually woke up by now!

The older man leaned over him and sneered, "Well, you should be afraid. I trusted you and you betrayed me. Treachery deserves retribution, doesn't it, son?"

_What the hell kind of question is that? You expect me to agree to your sadistic games, you nut case?_ "I didn't betray you," said Bayly shakily. It was a lie, a lie he feared was so obvious a moron could spot it, and his father was nothing close to a moron. A despicable, evil excuse for a wizard, but not stupid. Feeble as it was, he had no other defense.

In reply Dolohov grabbed his hair, twisting his fingers in the short locks, and wrenched Bayly's head back so sharply his neck gave a snap. "What do you take me for, boy? The aurors showed up at the house one day to take me away. The only people who knew I was there were your mother and you. Your mother loves me, so that—leaves—_you_!"

Suddenly he whipped Bayly's head forward to slam into the table. Stars and blackness engulfed him along with a blinding throbbing ache that shot through his skull as he swayed on the chair, but blessed unconsciousness eluded him. He vaguely heard the man ranting on.

"Go ahead, add lying to your list of transgressions. I don't mind setting you straight on that, too. It's time you had a proper pureblood upbringing…."

The rebuking voice drifted in and out as Bayly struggled for a satisfactory answer to mitigate the inevitable agony to come. This wasn't going to end well, of that he had no doubt and so he resigned himself to it. No matter what, he'd be tortured: that was a given on account of the psychopath who'd sired him, but if he played his cards right he might live….he might see Gloria again if he convinced the wizard of his innocence. Unfortunately, there was only one thing he could say that would be believable, that would shift the blame elsewhere, and that one thing entailed turning on the only man who actually seemed to give a damn about him!

"Snape did it! It wasn't my fault," Bayly cried. The tears rolling down his cheeks weren't from fear or pain; he was stabbing in the back a man he deeply respected, who in all likelihood would understand his need to do so, yet it hurt inside almost as bad as the Cruciatus.

"Snape?" repeated Dolohov. "What's that scum got to do with it?"

"He's a Legilimens, he read my mind…I couldn't stop him." _I'm sorry, Headmaster. Please forgive me._ If his hands weren't bound behind his back he'd have wiped away the water leaking from his eyes like a fountain, a reminder of his perfidy.

To Bayly's surprise, his father didn't clout him again. He had a pensive air as if remembering something. "Yeah, I heard about that, him being a Legilimens. He helped clear that Weasley bloke." And if that were the case, Bayly didn't stand a chance, he was just a pitiful kid who'd never been taught Occlumency up against one of the strongest Death Eaters Dolohov had ever known. Dislike Snape as he did, he still respected his abilities; only a fool underestimated a man like that.

"Let me go, dad. Please."

"_Crucio_."

The word came so suddenly, so unexpectedly that the spell sent the lad tumbling off the chair. He struck the dusty ground writhing and screaming from the depths of his being. Then, as quickly as it had begun, it ended with Dolohov raising his wand.

"What did you do to make the halfbreed Snape suspect you? Why did he read your mind? What else did he learn?" demanded the man.

Bayly panted and spit out a mouthful of dust, bile, and blood—an extra bonus from smacking his mouth when he landed on the floor. "I fell off my broom. I was—in the infirmary." Here he felt it of the essence to depart from the truth for self-preservation's sake. "The medi-witch saw the scars." He tried to rake his bound hand along his ribs to indicate some of the scars left behind from his father's not-so-loving tutelage. "She told Snape, and I wouldn't talk so he read my mind."

"Hmm. Bunch of f—king babies," growled Dolohov. "In my day every boy carried the marks of discipline, they didn't whine about them and teachers couldn't care less. Hell, they're the ones who put half of the marks there!"

In a wise move, Bayly averted his eyes and kept his mouth shut.

"So what'd he find out?" repeated the man.

"That you're my father," said Bayly very softly. "And where we live…" He managed to stop himself from blurting out how Snape discovered their plot to kill him. If he told, he'd then have to grasp for reasons why he wasn't currently residing in Azkaban for planning a murder. This web of lies was unwieldy enough. "He sent the aurors after you."

"I just thought of something." The look in Dolohov's eye made his son quake. "You told me aurors guarded the gates of Hogwarts, but there were none there when I showed up. You lied to me again." The wand started to aim toward the boy.

"No—no, I didn't!" Bayly shrieked, terrified of another _crucio_. "They were stationed inside the castle when it got cold out!"

The wand lowered again, permitting Bayly to breathe. It faintly troubled him how easily the fabrications dripped from his mouth, yet impressed him at the same time. He'd had no idea before meeting his dear daddy how quickly he could think on his feet…or lie through his teeth on the filthy floor of a dilapidated house, as it were.

Dolohov's twisted face quirked a bit more as he regarded the boy. It was plausible he spoke the truth, not that it really mattered now. Snape would assuredly have guards posted now that one of his students had gone missing. He felt a twinge of regret for Livonia; she'd just have to understand that Bayly wouldn't be coming home until he'd learned his lessons, he needed a firm hand and proper guidance if he were ever to become a son Dolohov could be proud of. And that guidance was about to kick into high gear.

"You should've killed Snape when you had the chance, but you're weak and cowardly. You failed in your mission." His hand went to his belt buckle; he slid the leather from around his waist, doubled it over, and cracked it loudly. "Because you're my son, it's my duty to punish that failure. Then I need to teach you to be a man. You're lucky I don't hold you responsible for the weak way you were raised, that's your mother's doing. Few women have what it takes to become a Death Eater, to be willing to rid our world of filth. Starting tomorrow, I'll begin to teach you strength as the master taught me. He made me what I am today," he finished, his features filled with self-importance.

_You mean a bloody f—king lunatic?_ thought the boy subversively. "I'm sorry," moaned Bayly, for want of knowing what else to say and knowing full well he'd be much sorrier in a moment. At least it was only a belt, not curses; those hurt far worse. He shuddered more to think of what was to come tomorrow…

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**December 21, 1998**

Bayly awoke on the dirt floor of the farmhouse, shivering in the slight morning chill. His hands and feet were still bound, making for an incredibly uncomfortable night all around. His whole body ached from the previous night's beating, which had left smears of blood on his shirt from split open welts, and his mouth tasted foul. It certainly wasn't a dream after all.

"Finally awake, are you? Lazy brat, I've been up for an hour." Dolohov hauled the boy to his feet, where he wobbled unsteadily on blood deprived legs. He took out his wand and removed the bindings, allowing Bayly to move and stretch his stiff muscles freely. "The loo is that way, don't get any bright ideas about leaving. I warded the doors and windows."

"Thank you, sir." Oddly enough, he meant it, inasmuch as he could walk and use the toilet without assistance, which he proceeded to do. True to his father's word, the window in the bathroom refused to budge; there was no escape. He trudged back to the front room and his heart leaped: his wand was sitting on the table! If he could just pick it up, he could stun the man and figure a way out—hell, blast through the wall if need be!

As casually as he could manage with his heart pounding like a steel drum for all to hear, he sidled up to the table. Dolohov had gone into the kitchen, now was his chance! He grabbed for the piece of wood, wrapped his fingers around it, and lifted—tried to lift, rather. He yanked furiously at the wand, which remained absolutely, traitorously immobile while the table rattled in alarm. The damn thing had been stuck with a sticking charm!

"Most amusing, son," scoffed Dolohov, leaning in the doorway to watch the spectacle. "I knew I couldn't leave you alone for a minute."

Bayly looked up at him in horror, his hand gripping the wand, his jaw going slack. "It's mine," he said lamely.

"And you can have it back when you prove you can be trusted. I'll leave it there as an incentive." Dolohov walked in and dumped a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a bottle of juice onto the table. Then he grinned diabolically. "Eat. I have your first lesson waiting outside."

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Hermione found Severus in the restricted section of the library poring over stacks of ancient, musty maps. His lank hair fell down around his face, obscuring all but the tip of his nose. She hated to disturb him…truthfully, she feared to disturb him; years of hanging around with Harry, who was incessantly in trouble, had heightened her sensitivity to Snape's volatile outbursts. But this was a special case, surely the Headmaster would understand.

"Professor, may I speak with you?"

"Unless I'm mistaken—and I'm not—you're already speaking with me," said Snape dryly, his eyes riveted to the parchment he was studying. He flung it aside onto a discard stack and began scrutinizing the next map.

She trod up warily to stand beside him at the solid little table. A faint odor of dusty books mingled with fresh cut mandrake roots drifted upward from his robes, to her surprise. She'd assumed once Aline Conn took over the Potions position that Severus would never look back. Maybe he missed it.

"Miss Granger, either state why you've come or kindly leave me to my work." Severus lifted his eyes long enough to scowl up at her.

"I'd like to help find Bayly."

In exhausted exasperation honed to a fine point from nonstop efforts to locate Bayly from the moment he was discovered missing, Severus glared at Hermione with bloodshot eyes. "Miss Granger, I've never made a secret of the fact that I considered you an insufferable know-it-all, which—ironically enough—comes in handy in your present situation as Muggle Studies teacher. Nevertheless, I fail to see what you propose to do that I have not already done to find Mr. Young."

"I could help you sort through those maps," offered Hermione optimistically. She laid a light hand on his arm, thrilled when he didn't pull away. "What are we looking for?"

"Magically hidden locations," Severus answered. It couldn't hurt to have help with all these blasted maps, especially with as tired as he was. Granger was intelligent and thorough, if annoying. She'd do a good job. He gestured to the chair opposite him and Hermione rushed round to occupy it. "These maps contain locations that can't be plotted on ordinary maps, only specially spelled ones. Look for any properties or estates under the name of Dolohov, Yaxley, or Young."

Hermione nodded, slid a parchment in front of her, and began to search, every so often clandestinely casting glimpses over at Severus. This was a side she had never seen of him—not to say it hadn't existed, merely that as a student she'd been shielded from the behind-the-scenes activities of the professors. To note his tireless dedication, his encompassing concern for one of the pupils touched her deeply, she found it…strangely alluring.

"I believe you'd cover more ground by looking at the _map_," intoned Snape, oblivious to her flights of fancy.

Blushing, Hermione ducked her head. How did he do that? He hadn't even glanced away from what he was doing! She was spared the further embarrassment of trying to come up with a reply when a house elf popped in beside the Headmaster.

"Professor Conn wanting Headmaster in Headmaster's office," it squeaked.

Severus gave a cross between a grunt and a snarl, but he got up. "Miss Granger, if you would continue?"

"Of course, Sev—Professor Snape," she replied. As he stalked off, her eyes followed him, enthralled by the almost enchanted hypnotic billowing of his robes. She never, EVER thought she'd say this but it was—well, kind of sexy. "I must be going mental," she chided herself and hunched over to attack the map with renewed vigor.

Aline was chatting with Dumbledore's portrait when Severus arrived looking cross and sullen…in other words, the way he always looked to Aline. She stepped away from the wall and cleared her throat. "Headmaster, do you still have the note written by Bayly's father?"

"Yes. Why?" He strode across the room to position himself in front of his desk in a move Aline could swear was designed to protect the desk from unauthorized invasion. He crossed his arms and stood there scowling.

"I don't know that I'd be able to sense anything, my clairvoyance is too random, I usually have to touch _people_," she explained, trying to avoid those awful black orbs scalding her. "But my sister Abigail is much stronger, more sensitive. If I may, I'd like to take it to her; with any luck, she'll be able to tell us something."

For the briefest flash the scowl faltered and Aline caught a glimpse of hope overshadowed by desperation. It startled her. For all Snape's bravery in the face of adversity, behind it lay a dreadful, cloying guilt so evident to her it felt like a crushing weight.

"No one knew this would happen," she said softly. "It isn't your fault."

Snape turned his back to round the desk and jerked open a drawer. "I don't recall saying it was." He removed a bit of parchment and thrust it out at her.

Aline gingerly snapped it from his fingers. As she'd suspected, not an inkling of sensation accompanied it. "It's a long trip to apparate, so it may take a while. I'll be back as soon as I can." She left his office on her way to the edge of the property where she could begin her journey.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Aline, what a surprise! I thought you were staying in England for Christmas." Abigail scurried across the floor of her wand shop to embrace her younger sister. Immediately she pulled away, her features set in worry. "Something's happened."

"Something terrible," Aline confirmed as she drew both the note and Bayly's broom, shrunken to a few inches, from her cloak pocket. "A boy from Hogwarts has been kidnapped by his father, a Death Eater escaped from Azkaban. I—we were really hoping you could tell us where they are before…" She drifted off and bit her lip to keep from breaking down. The very thought of Bayly being murdered was too horrific.

"I'll do my best." Abigail accepted the paper Aline handed her and instantly got an outpouring of images so strong she gasped and dropped it as though burned. Panting in horror she said, "He's evil! He's done so many ghastly things." Nonetheless, she stooped over to retrieve the letter and held it for well over a minute, fighting the urge to be sick. At last she gave it back to her sister.

"What did you see?"

"Many visions that will take a long time to fade," Abigail murmured. "Antonin Dolohov, faithful servant of Lord Voldemort. He wants to continue the fight for pureblood rule, and to punish those who oppose him. Even now he slaughters Muggles toward his hideous goal. I see him in an old white farmhouse, a lonely place; it's warm there."

Aline paled a shade, offering the shrunken broom to her sister. "What can you tell me of Bayly?"

Abigail picked up the broom and a smile lit her face, to be quickly replaced by a grimace. "He doesn't deserve this, he's such a nice boy." Tears coursed down her cheeks as she repeated, "He's such a nice boy."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

An exhausted, stiff-backed Severus was still waiting in his office two hours later when Aline arrived from Salem. She dropped the note on his desk as she said, "I'm sorry. Abby sees an old white farmhouse in a warm place, but she can't pinpoint where it is."

"That's not terribly useful," observed Severus, studying the top of his wooden desk, head down. A warm place? A _continent_ might be helpful.

"Bayly is alive…for now." Aline turned to go.

Snape's head whipped up, a smidgen of hope shining in his eyes. If Bayly hadn't been killed yet, perhaps that wasn't the purpose of abducting him! Dolohov relished tormenting his victims, but to Snape's knowledge he always murdered them within a few hours. "Miss Conn, what are you holding back."

Aline paused at the door, turned partway, and said, "He's being tortured again." Her voice cracked and she was glad he couldn't see the tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry I couldn't help."

"It isn't your fault," he responded, keenly aware even as the words forced their way past his lips that he was parroting her own 'comfort' back at her. "We will find him."

Aline nodded, more to end the conversation than from agreement. They might find Bayly, that was true, but would he be alive when they did?

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

**December 22, 1998**

The wailing hadn't seemed so bad in the men's room where Macnair steadfastly ignored it as he completed his business and went to the sink to wash his hands. The decibel level, however, increased dramatically as he opened the door to find a four-year-old girl with her brown hair bunched into pigtails shrieking at the top of her lungs.

He nonchalantly swept her aside with a hand on top of her head, spinning her out of his way, and continued on toward his work station in the meat department of the Muggle grocery. Though he'd left his blood-stained apron on his butcher block, his trousers and sleeves still bore some of the gore.

It didn't phase the child, who scuttled after him, her cries downgraded to mere whimpers. She tugged on the back of one trouser leg; he stopped, looked down at her with disgust, and shook his leg impatiently.

"Go away."

"I can't find my mummy."

"I don't care." He jerked away and started to walk off.

Like a puppy nipping at his heels, she trotted along beside him, her pigtails bouncing gaily. "Please, mister. I'm lost."

Macnair bent down so his face was only inches from the girl's, lest she miss any malevolent speck of his answer. "Read my lips: I. Don't. Care." He stood up, pleased with himself, and started off again.

To his consternation, the whelp began to howl, which ordinarily wouldn't have bothered him, aside from the obvious risk it posed to his hearing, but he was in a public place. Bystanders would assume he'd done something to the little fiend! Despite his reputation as a Death Eater and murderer of magical creatures, he'd never harmed a child; sure, he'd killed adults now and again, but it just seemed too depraved to butcher a kid, though at the moment he was rethinking his position.

"Would you shut it!" he hissed.

Astoundingly enough, that didn't work; she simply wiped her snotty nose up and down her arm while sobbing. Passers-by were beginning to take notice.

"Fine! Quit your sniveling and I'll help you," he growled, taking her not too roughly by the arm. It did seem to quiet her somewhat, to his relief.

Wrinkling his nose at the fact that he was actually touching one of _them_—one who had just wiped her mucoused hand on his trousers!—he dragged the imp back the other direction to the manager's office where to his good fortune August was coming out. Macnair fairly tossed the child into the manager's legs.

"I found this monster squalling in the aisle. It wants its mother," he said bluntly.

"Oh, poor dear, August will find your mummy," cooed the woman, bending down to get a look at the girl. She took her by the hand; to Macnair's chagrin, the child waved and smiled at him before wiping a balled fist at her tears.

He frowned and stomped back the way he'd come, only to screech to a grinding halt at a glimpse of robes and faint applause coming from the biscuit aisle. His head swiveled over to see Lucius patting his hands together and smirking.

"Bravo, Macnair. I see you're taking to this job like a duck to water. And coddling Muggle urchins—you do surprise me."

"Sod off, Malfoy," snarled Macnair. "Unless you've come to give me a wand and let me out of this hellhole, you can—"

"Yes, yes, I know. I can imagine all the unspeakable and impossible acts you'd like me to perform," drawled Lucius with a flippant wave of his hand. "We needn't recite them all. We can, perhaps, make a deal—_if_ you have information I need."

Intrigued at the prospect of leaving the Muggle world behind, Macnair leaned in. "What information?"

"Dolohov's whereabouts. He's stolen a student from Hogwarts; we'd like to find the boy before he's killed. Is that plain enough?"

Macnair's brow wrinkled. While no one could rival Bellatrix for sheer madness, Dolohov was a crackpot even by Death Eater standards, he and Yaxley both. There were others, but those two headed the list. If he'd stolen a kid, chances were very good that kid was long gone. "Malfoy, you know Dolohov. That boy's probably dead."

"Maybe so. Whether he is or not, I wish to find Dolohov. Have you any idea where he might be?" Lucius persisted.

"No, not really. But if you get me a wand, I'll help you look," said the other, unable to hide a sneer creeping up.

Lucius sighed. He figured this would be a waste of time. "No. Assuming I had an extra wand lying about, which I don't, we both know you'd use it to run off. Then, being the intellectual giant you are, you'd get yourself caught and proceed to sing like a canary about how I helped you evade the aurors. No, thank you."

Macnair glared at him with undisguised hostility, his speech spiteful and biting, his animosity evident over being dumped in this dismal place. "Then what'd you come here for? To gloat? Big, bad Malfoy got pardoned so he lords it over me! I could leave any time, you know, apparate to the Ministry and tell them everything! Then you'd be sorry! I'd go back to Azkaban, but you—"

His vitriol ended abruptly in a startled squeak. Lucius had calmly removed his wand, aimed it at Macnair's head, and fired. A flash of yellow-orange lit up the aisle which, fortunately, was unoccupied save the two wizards. Macnair stumbled against the shelves, knocking numerous boxes and packages to the floor.

He struggled upright looking severely vexed. If Lucius hadn't still been holding his wand, he would have attacked him bodily then and there. "What the hell was that?"

The corners of Lucius' mouth turned upward and his grey eyes registered a triumphant glower. "Because we're friends, of sorts, I'd prefer not to damage you unnecessarily. However, I'd advise against trying to apparate anywhere, Macnair. If you do, your head is liable to explode, and that can get rather messy."

"You're lying," gulped the other.

"Be my guest, try it. Allow me to step to the other aisle first," Lucius crooned. "I wasn't the dark lord's right hand without some benefits to show for it."

With the confidence of one who knows he is right, Lucius made a mocking bow to his comrade. Though this dark spell did exactly as he'd warned, he thought it a waste that so rarely could it be utilized. Most people, in their insufferable stupidity, wouldn't believe it possible and would try to apparate despite the warning which, in the case of a prisoner with information, or a family member, or merely a person one doesn't wish to kill, yielded most ghastly results. Macnair had been with the dark lord long enough to know something so gruesome was quite possible.

"Come on, Lucius, don't do this to me," pleaded Macnair. "You've got no idea how hard it is to live like this."

Lucius pursed his lips in thought. He had a point there. It must be devilishly difficult to navigate around this swine day after day, living among them, having no decent folk to break the drudgery. Out of pity Lucius relented slightly—not enough to remove the spell, but enough to suggest an alternative. "Rabastan and Rodolphus were discussing something I find personally abhorrent; however, considering your circumstance, you might be more receptive to the notion. Have you ever heard of Muggle cosmetic surgery?"


	28. Potpourri

Death Eater No More—Chapter Twenty-Eight (Potpourri)

**December 23, 1998**

"I didn't say I don't like Theodore, I merely put forth the premise that you're trying to drive me insane," Severus drawled at his daughter, cocking his head and raising his brows in a sign of amusement.

"Papa, you're being impossible!" she grunted, flinging herself into his chair at his desk, the only padded chair in the office. She crossed her arms and glared at him. "Are you trying to forbid me to see Theo?"

"That would be counterproductive, wouldn't it? The moment I said don't do it, you'd be after him like—"

"Papa!" Jacinta cried. "Mama and Daddy said it's fine with them."

Severus sighed. He walked over to the desk and perched on the edge, one leg drawn up, his tone serious. "Jack and Theo's father have been good friends for many years, most of their lives. That's why Jack doesn't oppose this relationship."

"I thought you and Mr. Nott were mates, too."

"We are," Snape hedged, averting his eyes. They'd been roommates in school, and truth be told Nott was an affable fellow, a loyal companion. While they hadn't been notably close—something Severus could only lay claim to with Lucius Malfoy—over the years they'd retained their friendship. Taking into account the trying times and Voldemort's chokehold on them all, that was saying something. It was just…. "Jacinta, he's a moron. A likable bloke, a good husband and father, but a moron."

"That's not very nice to say about your friend," she sulked. "And I don't think he is."

"How well do you know him?" Severus challenged. The girl had met him a few times in the past, and not when she was dating the man's son. She'd had no reason to pay close attention. "I'm only asking you to consider this: would you want your children to be simpletons."

"Theo isn't dumb!" she retorted. "Even if Mr. Nott isn't a conceited brainiac like you, he's got a lot of common sense and all his kids are smart, so there!"

Severus pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. "_So there_? Your wit makes me so proud."

Jacinta wrinkled her nose at him. "Not everyone can be brilliant, Papa, and holding out for an impossible ideal is silly. Theo is very bright, and he's handsome—like his dad, I might add," she said, pointedly drawing attention to Nott's finer qualities. "He's kind to me, and he stands up for me."

"He'd best keep it in his pants when he does, if he knows what's good for him," replied Severus drolly, though the hawk look that settled on his daughter made it clear he meant it.

Jacinta gasped and blushed. "That's gross."

"It's life, and if he hasn't tried anything yet, he will. He's a young man, that's what they do."

The young lady shifted uncomfortably. The last thing she wanted to discuss with her father was _sex_, and Theo hadn't made any moves toward it anyway. True, they'd only been going out a short time, and he seemed oddly terrified of her father's wrath…all the Hogwarts students she knew seemed to share this bizarre, baffling trait, even Draco to a degree. Nonetheless, she found this exchange most perturbing.

"I'm not a helpless ninny, I'm capable of saying 'no'," Jacinta stated. "Do I have your blessing or will I have to sneak around with Theo and argue with you every time I see you?"

"Given the fact that he's a respectable youth—despite the lamentable choice you've presented me with—I suppose I'll consent to Theo wooing you," Severus acceded in a lazy drawl. "Just make sure he understands I'll be watching, and if he steps one toe over the line it may be the last thing he ever does."

"You wouldn't kill him," Jacinta said, almost as a question. Almost.

Severus sneered across the desk at her. "If you don't tell him what I said, I'll tell him. And my manner towards the boy will lack any trace of coquettish ardor to soften it."

"Fine, I'll tell him my father's a beast!" Jacinta snapped. Honestly, she'd finally found a decent boy she liked who passed muster with her parents, and Papa was trying to scare him off!

"I'm certain he already perceives what kind of person I am," smiled Severus placidly.

He accepted the traditional peck on the cheek Jacinta offered grudgingly before stomping out the door, no doubt on her way to see her sweetheart, and he chuckled softly to himself.

Aside from reservations based on Udo Nott's track record for density, he really had no objection to Jacinta's courtship. Theodore Nott had never been a problem student, he was indeed quite intelligent despite his father's obvious shortcoming in that area. If Jacinta insisted on marrying the boy in the future—strange as it was to think of his baby girl being married—he only hoped their children inherited the Snape brains. In the meantime it was his job to protect his daughter from predatory men no matter who they may be, and if that involved making an earnest threat now and again, he was more than up to it.

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The largest Christmas tree in the Great Hall fell with a surprisingly weak thud, courtesy of the branches to muffle its topple. Its ornaments, however, squawked and protested loudly in a cacophony that assaulted anyone unfortunate enough to be within fifty meters. Students clamped their hands over their ears and ran from the room, headed by the two firsties who'd precipitated the accident. Within seconds, the handful of pupils boarding at Hogwarts over Christmas had vacated the premises, leaving only the noise of the shrieking baubles.

Hearing the commotion from quite a distance away, Hermione hustled up the corridor to the Great Hall, where a single glance told her the problem. She took out her wand and righted the tree, which calmed some of the discord; a silencing charm around the area saved her hearing, and that of anyone brave enough to return. She sighed and began replacing the ornaments one at a time with her wand. She wished Hagrid were here to help, his size came in very handy with decorating.

"If you remove the silencing charm you can hear them thank you," said Harry from behind her. Taking his own advice, he removed her spell to hear a giggle-like noise.

Hermione twisted around, a white bulb hovering in the air in front of her. "Well hello, Harry. I thought you'd already gone to the Burrow."

"No, not yet. I was finishing up grading the essay we set for the students." His wand was out now helping to place decorations on the tree. "I see now why Snape used to get so mad at us when we turned in shite."

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, smiling in embarrassment.

"Well, it's true. We spend so much time planning lessons—alright, _you_ spend so much time, but some of the students couldn't care less. They don't pay attention, they goof off in class, they turn in shoddy work." He shook his head in disgust. "And it's not just Slytherins."

"Had a revelation, Mr. Potter?" Snape glided in so quietly he could have been confused with one of the castle ghosts. "Have you at last come to the realization that not all Gryffindors are saints, nor are all Slytherins demons?"

Harry flushed. "I guess you could say that. I never appreciated how difficult it is to be a teacher."

Severus grunted noncommittally. A grand wave of his wand sent most of the ornaments flying at the tree where they attached themselves contentedly and purred like kittens. "One rarely understands the hardships of another until confronted with similar circumstances." He smirked to himself, feeling like a font of wisdom. It was about time someone recognized his sagacity.

He began to walk toward the staff table when Hermione called out, "Professor, are you staying here for Christmas?"

Ever so slowly Severus turned around, wincing inwardly. He knew it, he knew he shouldn't have let them draw him into conversation! Now they'd want to _talk_—yammer and prattle mindlessly as Gryffindorks were prone to do. Hell, throw in a few undeserved hexes and it would seem like old times.

"That depends on whether Mr. Young is found before that time, Miss Granger."

"I know what you mean," Hermione commiserated. "I'm thinking of staying here myself, I'm worried about him."

"'Mione, staying here won't find Bayly. What about Ron?" asked Harry.

To Harry's amazement, Snape jumped in to take his part. "Mr. Potter has a point. Your self-sacrifice would be for naught."

"I don't mind," Hermione declared. "I can keep you company."

Snape's pale features whitened visibly. "That won't be necessary, I assure you."

Hermione appeared not to have heard him. "I'm a teacher here, too, and I'd like to stand in solidarity with you. We could have dinner together tonight." Good Lord, did she just _bat her eyes_?

If it were permissible for a Death Eater bad-ass to cringe, Snape might have done so. Unused as he was to a woman's attentions being directed his way, he paused to mull this over in horrified silence. Was Granger coming on to him? That was so….not like anything he'd ever expected in his wildest nightmares. No, no, no! The pitiful, unattractive girl didn't have it in her to flirt, and certainly not with the loathsome Bat of the Dungeons. Surely Granger only had a speck of dust in her eye, that explained the flitting lashes. He felt a bit better. Problem solved.

Even so, what had he done by allowing these twits to infiltrate his school and worm their way into his life? All he wanted was to be left alone to brood like he did every Christmas, was that asking so much? If he wanted company he'd go to the Malfoys, not sit around sipping cider and chatting with people he decidedly did not find in the least bit interesting, simply because they felt _sorry_ for him! He would not fold like a card table because Miss Know-it-All threatened to invade his space and commandeer what little free time he enjoyed. Time to nip this pity crap in the bud!

"Absolutely not, Miss Granger. I insist you accompany Mr. Potter to the Burrow and send the Weasleys a benevolent Christmas greeting of some sort from me." Better throw her a bone or she'd try again, damned persistent wench. "And I'll be sure to notify you if anything noteworthy transpires regarding Mr. Young."

Hermione gave a rueful pout. Ron could wait a day or two, but Sev—Professor Snape looked so lonely, certainly he could use someone to talk to. However, if he wanted to be brave about it she hadn't much choice in the matter. And he had promised to let her know of any change in the situation. "I suppose you're right. If you're _sure_."

"I highly suspect I have never been so sure of anything in my life," Severus crooned triumphantly. He spun on his heel to flounce off before she came back with another reason to annoy him, feeling very proud of himself for the way he'd handled that. Then he frowned; he hadn't yelled or been snide or mean or anything! He must be losing his touch.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

_"I thought you—everyone told me you were dead." He felt a strong urge to race eagerly toward her._

_"Do I look dead, shit-for-brains?" Bella scoffed._

_She swaggered toward her husband wiggling her hips most provocatively, and all he could do was stare at the wonder of her: her exquisite features capped with lush black hair that cascaded down her back, her tiny waist cinched with a thick belt on one of those itsy-bitsy skirts he adored, her dark eyes that bespoke a bounty of tantalizing things to come…_

_"Did you know I've loved you since we were thirteen?" Rodolphus murmured to the vision. "I never could tell you."_

_Bella sneered valiantly and tossed her head. "It wouldn't surprise me, though it was an arranged marriage."_

_"No," chortled Rodolphus, sharing his secret. He stepped in to take her hand, which she pulled away. "Well, it __was__, but I asked my dad to arrange it. That day when we were in Transfiguration class and you turned that Gryffindor into a snake, took him outside, and threw him into the lake…that did it for me. You didn't care that you'd lost us thirty House points, or that everyone was cross with you, you were true to yourself. I've never looked back."_

_"I serve the dark lord!" she scowled at him. "You get what I deign to give you."_

_"I know," Rodolphus agreed, for some reason very anxious to please her. "I want to make you happy."  
_

_"Stop looking at me like that." That didn't sound like Bella, it was too deep, masculine._

Rodolphus' eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright, searching the pitch dark room, his breathing heavy, his mind befuddled. He blinked several times. Where was Bella? She'd been here, she'd….it was just another dream. He cursed softly and fell back on the pillow. He didn't cry for Bella anymore, his supply of tears had exhausted themselves long ago, but he still missed her—the Bella who used to exist before the dark lord had decided to make her his plaything, before Azkaban had ravaged her mind.

Voices from the living room directly beneath him wafted up strongly through the grate in the floor that allowed heat to pass up from the fireplace below. It seemed peculiar at this hour, making him curious. He scooted to the foot of the bed so his feet dangled right over the grate.

"Looking at you like what?" said Varden. Rodolphus could almost see his challenging expression from his tone.

"That damned pitying look you got the night I killed dad!" hissed Rabastan. Rodolphus' ears perked up; Rabby had refused to discuss this with him after his confession that day. "I won't let you manipulate me like I did then."

There was a low growling that sounded like swearing, then Varden barked, "I saved you from prison and from gossip about the family, Rabastan."

"And you made me pay for it, too," shot back the younger man.

"I have no idea what you're on about."

"Bullocks!" Something shattered, probably a glass. "As if you really believed I wanted to kiss you? Or do anything else?"

_Kiss_? Rodolphus nearly yelped, his eyes wide as saucers, so intent on eavesdropping he practically forgot to breathe. Surely he'd heard that wrong!

"Why wouldn't I believe it? You didn't object, you made no attempt to resist," Varden answered indignantly.

"How could I object?" howled Rabastan so loudly Rodolphus feared he'd wake up Nott in the next room as well. "I felt indebted to you, and I couldn't risk you going to the authorities and making up that I murdered my dad on purpose, so I let you do what you wanted!"

"That's a lie! You knew I loved you, I'd never do anything to hurt you!" bellowed Varden.

Rabastan's voice lowered to a murmur, forcing his brother to lean in close to the grate to hear.

"I used to believe that, but once you used that love against me to molest me, I didn't know anything anymore."

"Molest you?" Varden shouted. "Your memory is pretty selective, Rabby. You were eighteen, a full grown wizard. You participated willingly as I recall, and enjoyed it as much as I did! Many times!"

The spite and vitriol dripping from Rabastan's words were like acid burning through the floorboard. "Is that why I left home a few months later—because I _enjoyed_ your affections? I couldn't bear what you were doing to me, it tore me apart!"

A choked sob drifted upward to Rodolphus, whose face was set like flint, his brown eyes hard and full of furious hatred. He'd stood by and allowed their father to brutalize Rabastan; no more. Nobody—_nobody_ would hurt his brother again and get away with it while he had the ability to exact retribution.

"Rabby." It was Varden again, speaking ever so gently in a strangled voice. "I—I—my God, Rabastan, I thought you wanted to. I never would've…."

Rabastan was crying, making him more difficult to understand and causing Rodolphus to literally kneel beside the grate, bending so low his ear touched the cold metal. Like hot lead in his gut his heart ached for his little brother even as he plotted his revenge.

"You were the only adult who ever loved me, I didn't want you to stop loving me."

"I wouldn't have!" protested Varden.

"You're my _uncle_, can't you see how perverse it was?"

"I'm sorry. I always thought you knew how I am…..I thought—"

"And I'm too pathetic to even kill you because I still love you!" wailed Rabastan. "I hate you for that, I hate you!" More breaking glass and convulsive sobs.

"Please, Rabby—"

"Leave me alone! Just leave me alone!"

There was the sound of rapid footsteps, then silence. Upstairs, crouched on the floor in the dark, Rodolphus fumed. Finally he understood what had transpired to cause Rabastan to treat the uncle he'd worshipped like a pariah, and the reason made his blood boil. Varden had taken advantage of Rabastan's vulnerability all those years ago; he'd never do it again. Maybe Rabby couldn't kill the bastard, but _he_ could…and he would. The only problem was how to go about it so Rabastan didn't find out; that would be tricky. He didn't want his brother angry with him over killing some deviant merely because he 'loved' him. Whatever, he'd figure out a way, he'd make Varden pay. It was the least he could do.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

How exactly had he ended up on the couch holding the drowsy, drooling rugrat? That's what Lucius wanted to know. He glanced down at the tiny face that didn't remotely resemble a werewolf, and conceded to himself the brat was cute enough, but that didn't excuse the whole dreadful situation. Narcissa and her sister sat there chatting like nothing had ever come between them while he was left holding the halfblood grandchild of the blood traitor!

He sniffed indignantly, though neither of the gossiping hens appeared to hear him. No doubt Narcissa had been behind it somehow; she had a way of wrapping him around her finger like a blond pretzel, the manipulative witch. Ah, how he loved her—not many could get around a Malfoy so sneakily.

"Anyway, Andy, before we go to bed I thought I should give you this." Narcissa pulled a rolled parchment from behind a cushion and handed it to her sister.

Bemused, Andromeda took it, plucked off the gold ribbon, and unrolled it. She studied it at length before raising her eyes in astonishment and disbelief. "Cissy, you're giving me Black Manor?"

Narcissa smiled widely, then giggled like a schoolgirl. Lucius looked over at her as a whiff of the past entered his brain. "Malfoy Manor is my home. Draco will inherit it, he doesn't need Black Manor."

"What about the baby?"

"He or she will have plenty of other houses to choose from," said Narcissa with a shrug. "You and Teddy live in that tiny little shack—no offense. I thought if you moved up here, we'd be closer and you'd have a fine house for him to inherit."

"That's so kind of you." Andromeda stifled an unexpected sob of joy.

"Andy, you're family—right, Lucius?" She nudged her husband in the side.

"Huh? Oh, yes," he agreed, barely even aware of what he was agreeing to. He'd lost track of their boring conversation _again_ at Narcissa's giggle. Now all he could do was try to stop picturing her in her Hogwarts uniform with her belly rounded by his child. It was too bloody sexy and he was becoming aroused.

"There are blood wards around it, but both of you have Black blood, so that's no problem," Narcissa was explaining. "You can remove the wards whenever you want."

Sisidy came bouncing into the room with an owl clenching her arm. She trotted over to Lucius and held it out. "Owl coming for you, Master Malfoy."

Lucius lifted the owl, removed the note, and read it quickly. It said simply:

_Yaxley said, "It's in America. Good luck finding it." JCL_

Malfoy's heart did a flip and he hurriedly got up, pawned the child off on his wife, and bent down to kiss her. The baby mewled at being roused from his comfortable human pillow. "I must go, love."

Without further explanation he darted from the room, his mind whirring. This note had come from a contact at the Ministry; it was the best 1,000 galleons he'd spent in a long time. Up to now no one had been able to tell him anything; the Ministry kept a tight lid on the interrogation, perhaps because Yaxley had been taught, as had he and many other Death Eaters, to withstand Veritaserum, making the potion useless against him. That wasn't something the Ministry wanted to get out. Trying to find the location of the hideout by sifting through his memories with the pensieve would also prove useless without solid clues as to how to get there.

He summoned his cloak with an _accio_ and headed for the floo. Knowing Yaxley, he'd have given them this tidbit of information in hopes of tempting them, offering to take aurors to the hideout, provided they didn't bind him. Naturally they'd refuse, for it was far too easy to push away and disapparate in an instant, escaping his confinement.

Lucius was positively beaming when he came through the floo into Severus' quarters. With what the clairvoyant had said about the old farmhouse, combined with this new information, there could only be one logical choice. With a concerned expression Snape got up from the chair where he'd been reading.

Unable to hold in his news, Lucius blurted, "I know where Dolohov is."


	29. The Die is Cast

Death Eater No More—Chapter Twenty-Nine (The Die is Cast)

(A/N: _mottsnave_--thank you for noticing the parallel between Nott, Sr. and Severus versus Theo and Jacinta!...._Guilty_--I forgive you and look forward to more reviews. Hermione only has a crush on Snape...._Alex_--Yes, there is more to Lucius and Narcissa, never fear! Thank you to all my readers and reviewers!)

**December 23, 1998**

Lucius and Severus arrived by apparition at the Florida farmhouse within moments of each other, in the field where so many bad memories lay buried. Pausing to collect themselves after the arduous journey, they both took a few seconds to quell the nausea, to prepare themselves. The place looked exactly the same as they remembered: dirty and forlorn, broodingly quiet…minus a Death Eater torture party or the dark lord's insane presence, naturally.

Wands drawn, they glanced around sharply in the partially overcast light of day. By now bedtime would have reached Great Britain, but here dusk had not yet settled in. It seemed odd, the reigning tranquility and silence when this place represented a bastion of evil, of torment. The silence now gripped at their guts like a vise. No noise too often meant no life.

Severus pointed off to the right and Lucius, taking the cue, nodded curtly and headed round back of the house. Slinking stealthily as a cat to the nearest window, Snape peered through the cracked, grime-encrusted pane. Nothing but an empty, filthy room. He slipped down to the next set of windows and the hair at the back of his neck stood on end.

Almost directly across from him, secured to the wall by invisible chains, was Bayly. His shirt was gone and his chest and stomach bore several shallow slashes that oozed a trickle of blood; they looked to have been caused by a tree switch, but Severus knew better. Dolohov wouldn't bother with a switch when a curse would be so much more painful.

"Recite it again—and this time get it right!" bellowed Dolohov, making Snape actually start. He'd been so intently focused on Bayly he'd lost sight of the whole picture. Mentally he castigated himself for the lapse.

The other wizard stormed into view, apparently from another room, and snapped his wrist, causing his wand to flick and leaving another whip-like mark on the boy's flesh. Bayly gasped at the sting of it.

"I—I mustn't be afraid to demonstrate my superiority," mumbled the boy. "Mudbloods will bow before me and Muggles will die by my hand."

Dolohov didn't get the opportunity to correct him if he'd gotten it wrong, for the windows behind him exploded into the room along with a good section of the wall. He whirled, casting a curse as he did so at the man leaping into the room through the gaping hole.

Anticipating the attack, Severus blocked the curse and threw one back at him. Dolohov sneered as he brushed it aside.

"That the best you've got, halfbreed scum?" he taunted as another vicious spell sailed toward Snape.

The other man diverted it as well, sending it ricocheting off a wall, then fired three hexes in quick succession. Dolohov narrowly parried the onslaught and cast back his own, but his sneer had dissolved. Faces grim with the realization that this duel was no game, it was to the death, the opponents flung curses as fast as they could think them while dodging all manner of hexes including _avada kedavras_, circling and sidestepping, bobbing and weaving. Chunks of plaster gouged from the walls crashed to the floor at regular intervals. For several long, tense minutes it went on, neither gaining the upper hand as multi-colored flashes of light illuminated their faces in frightful relief.

Hoping to distract Severus and give himself an edge, Dolohov purred in a rough voice, "What business do you have here? I didn't hurt your brat."

Severus slammed a blue curse so hard in his direction it cracked a stud inside the wall when Dolohov deflected it. "You tried, though, didn't you?" Severus hissed back. "Now you're torturing one of my students."

In answer Dolohov shot another killing curse that Snape simply ducked. "This is _my_ kid, Snape. None of your concern." Another hex, then another flew from his wand to smack at odd angles on the walls as Severus turned them aside.

The hard black orbs of Severus' face pierced Dolohov like daggers laced with cyanide, his lips pinched into a tight white line. He'd been in plenty of duels over the years, many of them at the master's orders for his entertainment; not counting the dark lord and Bellatrix, he'd been bested by no one in a one-on-one fight from the time he learned proper dueling techniques. He had no intention of changing that now, not when the stakes were so high. For his own sake he couldn't let his guard down, but more for Jacinta and Bayly he had to win. If he so much as allowed the thought of defeat, the two youths' lives were in grave danger, and he'd be damned if Dolohov was going to touch his daughter or any other child again!

With renewed purpose he aimed a _stupefy_ followed immediately by two dark spells. Dolohov scrambled out of the way after blocking the first and positioned himself next to Bayly, sneering once more. Snape wouldn't shoot at the kid he was trying so hard to 'save', would he?

The evil wizard thrust his wand against Bayly's temple, digging it in slightly, dimpling the delicate skin. "Stop now or he dies," he warned. "Let me out of the house so I can apparate away, and you can have him. That seems reasonable."

The notion that Dolohov wouldn't murder his own son never crossed Severus' mind. He knew the man too well to hope for a spark of humanity, and this situation only proved his point. Snape hesitated, fury boiling in his veins, his wand aimed at Dolohov. It was too easy for a spell to be knocked aside just enough to hurt or kill someone nearby; as it was they'd endangered Bayly's life multiple times with their duel. If he let Dolohov go, Bayly would live…for now that would have to suffice. He could spend the rest of his life hunting down the sadistic bastard, but right now he must do what was prudent to save the boy. Though it left a bitter taste in his mouth, he began to lower his wand.

"Just kill me, dad," Bayly said in a low, deadpan voice.

For an instant Dolohov's eyes flickered to his son; it was all Severus needed. The wand that had started lowering slashed savagely upward with his trademark _sectumsempra_, cutting from belt to chin in a brutal line that tore Dolohov nearly in two. He dropped to his knees on the floor gushing blood from the massive wound, his heart spurting in gusts the precious fluid of his life. Unable to speak, he gaped uncomprehendingly as he clutched at the unmendable rip. For the first time in a very, very long time he recognized his own mortality.

Severus raced across the room and crushed Dolohov's wand with his boot, snapping it in half, then he carefully removed the spells binding the lad to the wall. Letting the strangely quiet boy rest on him for support, he pulled Bayly out of the room of his torment, the room where his father lay dying, through the hole he'd blasted in the house. There he found Lucius standing silently, watching the spectacle with wand drawn.

"Thanks for your help," said Severus sarcastically.

"You had it well in hand," returned Lucius with a shrug. "If Dolohov had left the house, I'd have killed him. As it was, I was ready to block a spell from you if need be, but if I'd started sending curses while you two were dancing around in there I might have hit you or the boy." When he noted Severus raising his wand to Bayly's chest, he stayed him with a hand on his arm. Shaking his head in warning he said, "Leave it be. It's only superficial, and the aurors need to see everything exactly as it is."

The serious glint in his eye made Severus pause, then he acquiesced. He let Bayly slide to the ground where the boy crouched in a ball with his head resting on his arms and his eyes staring vacantly. Conjuring images of happy times with Jacinta—no small feat with a man dead by his hand and one of his students cringing at his feet—he managed to produce the patronus associated with her, a lovely white unicorn. "Go to the Ministry and bring aurors here. Tell them Dolohov is dead, the boy is rescued."

The unicorn bounded off and Severus looked down at Bayly; his back, now clearly visible in the fading sunlight, was crisscrossed with a mass of welts, some of them oozing pus and blood. If Dolohov weren't already dead or close to it, he'd have another go at the bastard.

"Severus, you should see this," Lucius said in a hushed tone. The gravity of the situation and the air being so still amplified every movement and word. He beckoned his friend to follow as he led to the back of the house where a shallow pit had been dug.

"Bayly, help will arrive soon. You must stay right here, don't wander off," cautioned Severus to the youth who seemed unaware of their presence. He glanced down at the motionless form before sighing inwardly and following Lucius.

Snape looked down into the pit, paled, and fought a sudden rush of bile as he spun away. Two bodies lay in the hole, a man and a woman, both nude and heinously mutilated, obviously tortured piteously, and he didn't need to ask whose handiwork it was. The bodies were fresh, as evidenced by their lack of decomposition in the warm air; the man appeared to have been skinned alive.

"If the boy witnessed this, and I'm supposing he did, it won't be an easy thing to forget," Lucius commented, vaguely worried about Severus. It wasn't like him to be so squeamish, it weren't as if he'd never seen tortured corpses before. Hell, he'd watched people _die_ plenty of times, had just killed one himself.

"I need to get back to Bayly," Severus said tightly. Won't be easy to forget? When had Lucius become master of the obvious? The poor kid had lived a veritable nightmare over the past few days, he'd be lucky to be able to shove it out of his mind long enough to try to live a normal life. He strode back to the battered youth and squatted down beside him. "Are you alright?"

There was no answer, not even a raising of his blond head to look up.

Severus shifted his weight and lowered one knee to the ground. "Bayly, I'm sorry. I…there is no excuse, this shouldn't have happened." Unused as he was to offering comfort, he wrung his hands together before venturing to place one tentatively on the boy's shoulder. Bayly recoiled violently, shaking the offending appendage away.

"Don't touch me!" croaked Bayly. His arms tightened around his legs.

He deserved that, didn't he? He'd failed to protect the boy, allowed him to be kidnapped and hideously abused, then topped off the horror by killing his father in front of him. It would be a wonder if Bayly _weren't_ angry. "I am very sorry."

"Just don't touch me," repeated Bayly, his voice rising in a shaky plea.

"If that's what you want," intoned Snape, getting stiffly to his feet. He walked away a short piece, then out of the blue slammed his fist into the side of the house. He clenched his teeth against the pain shooting up his arm and looked down in fascination and rage at his skinned, bloodied knuckles and shattered bone.

From seemingly nowhere Lucius appeared. "He doesn't blame you."

Severus couldn't make eye contact, it was too painful, much more so than the throbbing in his hand. "Yes, he does—and he should. It was my responsibility to protect him. I have no business being Headmaster."

"You saved his life."

"Which I wouldn't have had to do if I'd done my job!" snarled Severus.

Without invitation Lucius reached over and stretched his friend's hand out in front of him, shaking his head and clucking his tongue. "That was very stupid."

"Who are you, my conscience?" sniped the other.

"In a manner of speaking," replied Lucius. He waved his wand over the fractured paw while chanting one of the many spells he'd heard his father use. The bones snapped back into place with a grunt from Severus. He pointed the wand again.

Severus yanked his hand away, grimacing at the pangs accompanying his tantrum. "I can do it myself." He proceeded to do just that while Lucius watched blandly through half-lidded eyes as the bones mended, the bruises receded, the wounds closed, and Severus flexed his hand a few times.

"Show-off," smirked Lucius before becoming serious once more. "You're not the only one who carries a burden of guilt, Severus. I nearly destroyed my family, my son could have been killed because of me, because of who I served. Wallowing in anger or self-pity isn't going to change that, is it? I can't alter the past any more than you can, but I can make things better for the future."

He noted with satisfaction that even though Snape was staring down and digging the toe of his boot at the ground pretending not to listen, he wore a pensive expression.

"That boy over there has been appallingly traumatized, he's going to need your support, your strength. Don't think me a sycophant when I say you're the strongest man I know."

"In case you happened to miss the show, he hates me," Severus stated, jaw clenched, eyes searching the dirt as if he found it enthralling, or perhaps thought he might find something valuable.

Lucius glanced over at Bayly huddled against the building, sobbing quietly into his arms, and his heart tightened in his chest. This kid was younger than Draco; how would Draco have fared under these circumstances? This was so wrong, everything about this scene. "I highly doubt that. He's overwrought and terrified; can you fault him for that?"

A unicorn burst into the field followed by six aurors apparating together, back to back, wands drawn. Seeing only Severus, Lucius, and Bayly—none of whom were brandishing weapons—they warily approached. Lucius led three of the men to the pit in the back garden where the maimed corpses lay, while Severus motioned for the rest to follow him inside to Dolohov's body.

The leader of the group, a gentleman of fifty with silver-brown hair, unstuck Bayly's wand from the table and came outside to present it to him. "Bayly, I'm Charles." He nudged the boy gently in a friendly manner, careful to avoid the wounds, but Bayly shrieked and shuffled away, trembling against the house and throwing one arm up over his head.

"Please leave me alone!" he cried hysterically. If he could have pressed himself any tighter into a ball, he would have imploded.

The auror held the wand out at arm's length. "I just wanted to give you your wand," he said softly. "I'm not coming closer, I won't hurt you."

Bayly lifted his head barely enough to look over his knees, his tearstained face red from crying and dirty from lack of washing, the expression in his eyes leery…haunted. Cautiously he reached over, snapped up the wand, and clutched it in a near death grip to his chest.

"You need medical attention. Why don't you come with me—"

"No!" blurted Bayly, shaking his head frantically. His wand began to rise.

Charles raised his hands in surrender, slowly got up, and went back inside where he pulled aside the only woman of their group and spoke softly to her for a bit, every so often gesturing outside. She got a troubled look and nodded, then came out to where Bayly sat. She crouched down next to him and touched his hand; he started but didn't jerk away.

"Bayly, my name is Davina. I need to take you to St. Mungo's for treatment so you don't get infected." From the looks of it, she was a little late for that. "Will you let me apparate you?"

He regarded her apprehensively, his mind racing in confusion. At last he bobbed his head mutely. She smiled and stroked his hair, wishing she dared hug the piteous child to her chest, but he was too emotionally fragile for that, she knew. She stood up and motioned for him to do the same; as his lithe form unfolded to reveal the scars of his captivity, it took all she had not to scream in outrage at the multitude of marks disfiguring him. Carefully placing his hand in hers, she disapparated.

Inside, Charles wandered over to Severus, ignoring Dolohov's twisted corpse. He'd seen more than his share of mangled bodies, and Dolohov had caused who knows how many of them. Good riddance to the filth. "We'll need to take a statement from you and Mr. Malfoy."

"Of course," Severus replied.

"Are you the one who took out Dolohov?"

"Yes," said Snape curtly. He was really in no mood to discuss this, he wanted to know that Bayly was being taken care of, he wanted to assure himself the boy was alright.

"Nice job! I hear he was quite good at dueling," commented Charles.

"Well he isn't anymore," growled Severus.

As if sensing the conversation turning ugly, Lucius came sauntering in with the rest of the aurors, looking like a regal commander. "Gentlemen, it's been a trying day for all of us. You've got your work cut out for you in disposing of the Muggle bodies and of _that_ despicable person." He stopped short of stomping Dolohov's lifeless body, mainly because it would entail stepping in a puddle of blood to get close enough. "I see no reason for us to remain here in your way. Would it not be possible for Mr. Snape and myself to present ourselves at the Ministry tomorrow to answer any questions you may have?"

"I don't see why not," answered the leader. "We've got a lot to do, as you pointed out. Mr. Snape, since you found the boy and you know him, would you mind speaking to Bayly's mum about what went on here?"

Severus gave a slow, solemn nod. Miss Young ought to be informed of the conditions under which he'd found and rescued her son. Though he felt peevish thinking it, he felt she ought to be aware of the ways her depraved lover had tortured him.

Then Charles added, "Be prepared, though—it's not an easy thing for a parent to hear their child has been brutalized and raped. If you prefer, we'll take care of it."

Time seemed to come to a grinding halt as Lucius and Severus gaped together in horrified incomprehension at the wizard. At length Lucius clamped his jaw shut and rapidly collected himself, ever mindful of his public persona, but his eyes retained a vestige of revulsion and dismay. Snape's face took on a hard edge he didn't try to hide.

"Why would you think that?" demanded Severus when his voice finally agreed to cooperate. Was that high tone actually him?

"I've dealt with a lot of rape victims, Mr. Snape, and this kid acts like one," said Charles simply in a weary, jaded tone. He'd seen so much evil and suffering in his career as an auror that at times it broke his heart—when it didn't enrage him and spur him on to instituting justice. Here, justice had already been done. "I could be wrong."

_But you're not_, Severus thought as a wave of despair crashed over him. An unseen force like a kick to his stomach nearly knocked him off his feet. This explained Bayly's despondency, his evident fear at having Snape near him! It fit, didn't it? Dolohov wouldn't be satisfied with breaking his son physically through barbaric torture, he'd seek to break him mentally and emotionally as well, and he'd go to any lengths to accomplish it.

Stony faced, Severus spun on his heel and stalked out, ignoring Lucius calling after him and the aurors staring at him. This was all his fault. It had been bad enough to find Bayly tortured, but at least he was alive, he would heal; to realize the additional misery the kid would endure for probably years to come was too much to take. And to think it was all _his_ doing, _his_ lack of guarding his ward that had permitted this to happen!

He stomped across the field heedless of where he was going. He was a useless sack of shit who didn't deserve to be in a position of authority over youngsters who depended on him! And to make matters worse—if indeed that was even possible—Dolohov had abducted his son to punish him for sending the aurors after him, which in reality was Snape's doing! All of it, from Dolohov's desire to kill Snape for his treachery to this very moment—every bloody part of it was _his_ fault, and Bayly had been the one to pay the price.

It was time he resigned and let someone worthy assume leadership at Hogwarts. Who did he think he was kidding anyway? Not only did he suck at defending the children, he wasn't Dumbledore, he wasn't cut out for coddling a bunch of needy brats. This situation clarified that point all too acutely.

He owed it to Miss Young to explain what had happened here today. No doubt the doctors at St. Mungo's would inform her of Bayly's injuries and tend to them appropriately. Beyond that, everyone would be better off if he never showed his face again. Certainly he couldn't expect Bayly to forgive him, nor dare he ask for absolution. He deserved only the utmost contempt and revilement for his pitiful performance.

It was in this wretched state of self-loathing Severus disapparated on his way back to Britain.


	30. Ripples in a Pond

Death Eater No More—Chapter Thirty (Ripples in a Pond)

Commerce Plaza: the largest, cleanest, most impressive gathering of business buildings in the northern wizarding world, if one were to believe the hype. Truly the place was notable for its architectural diversity if nothing else, ranging from colonial coffee-type houses to practically Muggle high rises. Lucius apparated directly into the square beside an enormous fountain depicting a walrus eating a seal…he'd always found it apropos, if gauche.

It had been a good long while since Malfoy had shown his face here. Despite the pretense he kept up at home and among the general populace, he didn't feel comfortable in public anymore; the stares and whispers grated on his nerves along with the knowledge that he would only ever be a 'Death Eater' to many people now. No matter the reasons for what he did, no matter how much good he did for the community, he'd always carry that stigma…he and Draco both. Notwithstanding he'd recently been praised by Minister Shacklebolt and the _Daily Prophet_ for helping to rescue the kidnapped Bayly, diehard Malfoy-haters would never even try to get over his past. The best he could hope for was a substantial lessening of ill will over time for the two of them, aided by his works of charity; perhaps with any luck his soon-to-be-born child wouldn't be saddled with the scorn of individuals not even worthy to associate with a Malfoy.

He raised his chin and took in his surroundings as his white blond hair whipped in the frigid air. Two women walking side by side passed him, and as they did so one of them looked straight into his face, her eyes widened, and she quickened her pace. Lucius stifled a grim smile of satisfaction. If he were to be loathed, at least he was feared.

Gripping his cane for the small comfort it offered, he crossed the plaza, skirting the fountain caked with snow, its water frozen into rivulets of ice clinging to the bodies of the tortured animals. His destination was Romulus Young, his real estate attorney, whose office happily was located on the first floor of a multi-level, one of the taller buildings in the area. He unequivocally disliked lifts, which reminded him of Muggle contraptions.

Romulus rose as Lucius entered his warm and cozy office, his features clearly showing his surprise. Extending a hand he said, "Mr. Malfoy, this is unexpected. What can I do for you?"

Taking the proffered hand, Lucius replied, "The Christmas season tends to make one think along the lines of benevolence. I've decided to donate a piece of property to the Wizards and Witches Orphanage."

Young beamed broadly, motioning for him to sit. While it wasn't unusual for a Malfoy to exhibit such philanthropy in the form of monetary donations, it wasn't common to give away their estates. "That's very bighearted, Mr. Malfoy. Which property are you considering?"

"I thought mayhap the estate in Norfolk. It's got twenty acres aside from the large house, leaving plenty of room for a playground and expansion." Lucius leaned back in his cushy chair to regard the other man. He did, indeed, bear a striking likeness to his nephew.

"This is more than generous of you," Romulus stated, hazel eyes shining. A wave of his wand opened a filing cabinet and a thick folder sailed into his hand. He set it down to rifle through the papers. "Let me find the correct title and I'll get started on the process. I'll need you to sign some forms, of course."

"Of course," Lucius repeated.

"Have you notified the orphanage of your intention?"

"No. I thought I'd leave that to you," said Lucius benignly. If there was one thing Abraxas Malfoy had taught him, it was that tooting his own horn wasn't the way to sway sympathy and good will in his direction. It was far better to let others notice and highlight the altruism, giving him a semblance of humility….and if they were none the wiser that he'd been the one to guide their vision in the proper direction, he'd done his job well.

As Romulus leafed through the parchments, all marked with the Malfoy crest, the lawyer remarked, "I hope you had a nice Christmas . I'm sorry to hear the New Year's party has been cancelled due to Narcissa's condition. Is she alright?"

"Yes, she's fine, thank you," Lucius answered with a nod. "It's simply too much work and stress for her right now."

He paused, his blank countenance giving no indication of the battle within himself over whether to broach the subject. Ordinarily he had no problem bringing up a topic on his mind, but this was delicate. The day of Bayly's rescue there had been a long article in the _Prophet_ describing how the boy had been terrorized and abused while in captivity— in all probability to showcase the handiwork of a 'typical Death Eater', Lucius thought bitterly—but no mention of sexual violation, which he'd found odd. The last he'd heard of Bayly had been on Christmas morning, a short, vague article that said the boy's injuries had healed and he'd returned home.

"How is your nephew faring?" Lucius finally asked, feigning a casual air.

"Not well, I'm afraid," said Romulus, head down, scanning the papers. He pulled one from the stack and sent the file flying back to the cabinet. Then he looked up with an earnest expression. "I want to thank you again for helping him, you and Snape both. I'm certain Dolohov would have killed him."

"You're probably right," Lucius murmured, inclining his head slightly to acknowledge the gratitude. "You said Bayly's not well? He's been released from the hospital."

Romulus grimaced and shook his head. "Physically he's fine—or as fine as an emotionally scarred boy can be. I know what the auror told you, but the doctors at St. Mungo's said there was no evidence to imply Bayly was raped."

"Is that so?" Lucius replied, heartened and a bit curious.

"So they say, and yet he's acting blasted strange. In the hospital he'd only permit the medi-witches to touch him, he'd cower and shriek bloody murder if a man came near—including me. He puts wards around his bed at night…my sister hears him screaming from his nightmares." Romulus set his jaw and averted his eyes, not before Lucius noticed the shine of unfallen tears. "We don't know what to do. He won't talk about it, he wants to act like nothing happened."

"Why didn't they simply _obliviate_ his memories?"

"As they explained it to me, _obliviation_ must be performed immediately after the event one wishes to eliminate. Depending on the force of the spell, it can erase from a few hours up to a full day. Bayly was held captive for over three days, they couldn't have touched all his memories even if they'd done it right away." He shuffled the parchment on the desk fretfully.

"What of selective _obliviation_ performed by a skilled Legilimens?" suggested Lucius. Snape certainly fit that description, and it weren't as if he were doing anything else.

Romulus nodded glumly. "I mentioned that. They said it's like shooting a spark into a haystack and hoping it doesn't ignite. It's unpredictable, it can lead to memory loss even to the point of not remembering family or friends. It's just too dangerous." He gave a heavy sigh and looked up at Lucius again. "It's a moot point anyway. He refuses to allow any type of mind encroachment, and since he's of age his mother can't compel him."

So much for bringing up other forms of memory charms, most of which were so risky Lucius wouldn't permit a practitioner to get within a mile of his loved ones. But in a pinch like this they might offer some comfort. The kid was obviously suffering, why was he being so obstinate and spurning any hope of help? It didn't make sense, and when things didn't make sense they bothered Lucius. And knowing it _shouldn't_ bother him bothered him even more. Why should he feel anything at all? He didn't even know this boy! Why the bloody hell couldn't he scrape this kid from the recesses of his mind?

If he'd been home he'd have commenced to pacing the room like a caged tiger. They'd determined Bayly hadn't been molested, that was magnificent news—so why was he behaving the way he was? He'd been brutally treated by Dolohov, that was undeniable; yet Lucius had been beaten many times by his own father, who'd been strict to the point of cruelty on occasion…but admittedly that was different. Abraxas Malfoy hadn't been sadistic, and he loved his son. The dark lord, on the other hand, had sadistically tortured him many times, but that was different, too—he wasn't Lucius' father, there was no expectation of love.

"Have you seen Snape?" In the quiet room, the question startled Lucius out of his musings.

"No, not since that day we…" he drifted off, hating to speak of it. "He didn't come to the manor for Christmas as is customary, and he's been avoiding communication. I believe he's holed up at Spinner's End."

"Bayly has asked about him. He wants to talk to him."

Lucius lifted the edge of one blond brow. He hadn't seen that coming; he'd rather assumed Bayly somehow blamed Snape as much as Snape blamed himself, silly and pointless as it may be. "I see," he said as calmly and noncommittally as possible, then immediately negated his effort with the next pronouncement. "I suppose I could appeal to him to go visit."

Romulus grinned, making him look quite boyish. "I'd appreciate that."

Lucius smiled tightly as the magnitude of what he'd done sank in. Was he insane? He'd just promised to send Severus to visit the kid whose very existence was eating the man up inside. Lovely. This should be interesting, if not fun, to see how he might manage to persuade, cajole, or manipulate the twit into following a course other than his own. That would be a near-first! If successful, he'd need to make careful notes of the process for future reference. "I'll do my best."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Knowing Severus, he wouldn't answer the door in his current state of mind. That left the floo network, barring the possibility that Snape had removed Lucius from the list of those permitted free access, which wasn't probable. Thus, Lucius arrived at Spinner's End in a cloud of soot that left him sneezing and took two charms to remove, and put him in a surly mood to boot. These robes were hardly cheap rags to be dragged through cinders! He hated the floo! He stepped out of the fireplace to see Severus slouched on his sofa staring mindlessly into space; the latter glanced over at him without a word.

"Good afternoon to you, too," said Lucius crossly.

"What do you want?" asked Severus in an impassive voice.

"Tea and biscuits would be nice if it's not too much trouble," returned the other. It failed to get a rise out of Severus. "Are you planning to sit here alone until you wither up and blow away? You're skinny as a rail, it won't take long."

"Maybe I'd get the opportunity to be alone if the parade of do-gooders left off with their pestering pity calls," Severus snapped back.

Lucius made a show of gazing around the room, to the point of doing a full turn while smirking. "Yes, I see what you mean. I can scarcely breathe or move for all your company. I'd no idea you were so popular." He tapped into the air on an imaginary shoulder at one of the filthy, worn armchairs. "Do you mind if I have your seat? The room is—"

"Oh, shut it, Malfoy!" scowled Severus, sitting up straight. "First Jacinta was here, then the twins, all of them obsessively worried over my health; then half the professors from Hogwarts carping over my decision to quit my job before I'm sacked, and now you! I never should have told that blabbermouth Minerva, but I'm tendering my resignation when the Board of Governors convenes after New Year and that's final!"

Only then Lucius noticed a sheet of parchment set apart from the rest of the rubbish on the coffee table. Having learned to read upside down at a young age, it took only a moment to ascertain the veracity of his statement. Severus had indeed written out his resignation, he intended to quit as Headmaster. Lucius had thought the wizard had only been spouting off out of anger and helplessness at the farmhouse. "You think that's why I'm here?"

"Isn't it?"

"No, although now that you mention it…." Lucius grasped the serpent head of his cane, slid his wand out, and in one quick motion caused the paper to burst into flame and it was gone.

"What in Hades do you think you're doing?" Severus ground out through a jaw so tight it could have cracked walnuts.

"Saving you from making another big mistake."

Severus jerked up from the couch, ominously approached the other man, and leaned in nose to nose, so close they could have kissed. The pose would have sent most of his students into panic attacks and many adults into cardiac arrest. Lucius merely stared him down with an impudent grin. "You've got balls, Malfoy."

"I'm not sure I'm flattered that you noticed," Lucius replied, smiling in that patronizing way that made people want to slap him. "I am married, and we're only _friends_."

Pinching his lips together and gripping his fists till his knuckles showed white lest he hex Lucius to kingdom come, Severus spun around. "You can see yourself out."

Whatever possessed him to do so, Lucius lifted his hand, cocked his forefinger against his thumb, and let loose with a 'thunk' to his companion's skull. Severus froze in position, eyes bulging with utter astonishment.

Without turning around, without even turning his head, he clipped, "Malfoy, tell me you did NOT just _flick me_ in the head."

"I regret to say that I can't in good conscience lie to my best friend."

Severus whirled about, a snarl marring his features, and Lucius felt sure he'd be the recipient of a retaliatory flick—or worse. He hoped it didn't leave a bruise. Instead, Snape howled, "Have you completely lost your mind? What is wrong with you?"

_What is wrong with you?_ Too often as a boy and a young man Lucius had heard the same phrase from his father's mouth when he'd done something deemed particularly stupid; hearing it now didn't sound any better. And why was _he_ being made out the villain? He'd come to do a good deed and dammit he was going to accomplish it come hell or high water—or even come Snape's death-filled glowers!

Defensively he retorted, "I'm not the one barricading myself in my home to pout like a baby because things didn't work out the way I wanted! Oh, and thank you for asking what brings me here, even if your manner of query more than remotely resembled that of a caveman grunting vocalizations." Before Snape could leap in with a nasty reply he blurted, "I've come from speaking with Bayly's uncle. The boy would like to see you."

Unprepared for the radical switch in topic, Severus was left speechless to regroup. It was something Lucius didn't see every day, it was a nice change of pace to see Snape at a loss for words. At last Severus said acerbically, "Why? So he can tell me I'm a fuck-up as a Headmaster? I already know that!"

"I told Romulus I'd send you," Lucius insisted doggedly.

"Then un-tell him," Severus growled.

Again the eyebrows arched gracefully. "Un-tell? That's not even a word."

"Would you quit with the bloody semantics and oh-so-restrained concern for me! I know what you're thinking, just like everyone else who doesn't have the guts to come out and say it—Snape, the greasy bat, has finally struck bottom and dragged the kid with him," Severus panted, his features pulled taut, black eyes blazing in his sallow white face.

"Some Legilimens you are," Lucius muttered, curling his lip disdainfully. "If you're going to presume to know my mind, the least you could do is get it right. For some godforsaken reason I thought perhaps you'd care to visit the boy for moral support, perhaps help him through this difficult time, but I guess that would intrude on your sulking!"

He gleaned a degree of satisfaction from watching his friend's face fall in shame. So it was possible to shame him still! The git was getting too full of himself which, he thought with amusement, coming from a Malfoy was saying something.

"It was my fault, all of it," said Severus quietly.

A barked guffaw escaped from Lucius' throat. "Yes, Severus, everything is your fault! You run the bloody universe! Those people who talk of _Malfoy_ conceit are evidently not acquainted with _you_. I'll grant you're a fuck-up, but not for this. You did everything in your power to safeguard Bayly and then to find him—it's not like either of us sat twiddling our thumbs and thinking happy thoughts to bring him back, we busted our arses! Dolohov is responsible for what happened to Bayly, not you! Why do you always take everything on yourself?"

In a droll tone that hinted of a grin somewhere hidden deep down, Severus remarked, "You know, for a loquacious, bombastic prat, you really suck at motivational speeches."

"I take that as high praise from a self-aggrandizing, exasperating dullard," Lucius smirked back, defying Severus to react.

It worked.

"Dullard?" Severus repeated, aghast. Notably he didn't address the other insults, which he deemed fair enough—but to attack his intelligence was going too far! "That's a low blow even for you."

"I'm primed to deliver more of the same," Lucius returned quasi-threateningly. "I call them as I see them."

Snape rolled his eyes to heaven as he sighed heavily, much the way he did when one of his students came close to blowing themselves and half the lab to smithereens. "If it will shut you up, I'll go—but I don't promise anything. For all I know, Bayly may be intent on murdering me."

"Paranoid as always. Nice to know some things don't change."

"I said I'll go! Are you happy?" Severus snapped.

"Ecstatic," replied the other dryly. "Now, if you'd do something about the hideous décor of this room…"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Mistress Malfoy, Miss Parkinson comes to see Mistress," Sisidy yipped in an unusually excitable tone as she hopped up and down in place, grinning madly. Narcissa had never seen her so electrified.

"Finally! I've been expecting her for days."

The lady of Malfoy Manor hauled her ever-growing bulk away from the dining table, where she'd barely sat down for her mid-afternoon snack, and waddled into the parlor off the foyer, then stopped abruptly—so abruptly the elf trailing behind her bumped into her rear end with a frightful squeak. There stood Pansy Parkinson alright….and two house elves, one an adult female judging by her pink pillowcase robe, the other a child elf who clung to the former, arms wrapped snugly around her hips. Its oversized head, already large by human standards, seemed positively gigantic, though its ears and nose were significantly smaller than any elf she'd ever seen. Then again, she'd not seen many child elves.

"Hello, Mrs. Malfoy," said Pansy, offering a sheepish smile.

"Pansy. Would you like to explain?" Narcissa crossed her arms and waited.

"Well, mum said you wanted to buy Cinchona to help around the mansion. I would have brought her sooner, but Pipsissewa went into major fits and they were both inconsolable." She petted the head of the little one.

Narcissa peered hard at the tiny elf burrowing itself against the adult and peering right back at her with huge, curious eyes. "Is Cinchona his…her…mother?"

"No, but he's been an orphan since he was a baby and she's brought him up," Pansy explained. "We couldn't bear to separate them, and if you don't want Pipsissewa, mum understands."

Stretching out her hand like one does to a nervous kitten, Narcissa moved a few steps closer and bent down as far as her protruding belly would allow. She stroked the elf's bald head gently, eliciting an almost cat-like purr. "Pipsissewa is a cumbersome name for a wee creature like you. I'm going to call you Pip. You and Cinchona will live here and keep Sisidy company and serve the Malfoy family."

A squeal of delight from behind her bum reminded her that Sisidy was still in the room. Since the wretched Dobby had been stolen from the family, she'd been alone with none of her kind to associate with, save on the occasional outing to the market or some other errand. This would be good for her as well as for the Malfoys.

Narcissa straightened up and looked at Pansy. "I'll take them both. Naturally I assume there will be a charge for Pip. Send the bill to my husband, he'll take care of it."

"Yes, ma'am," Pansy smiled, apparently grateful all had gone well.

"Sisidy, take these two and show them where they'll sleep and brief them on their duties," Narcissa ordered. She couldn't hold back a smile of her own at the joy on Sisidy's grotesque face. She'd been such a good servant all these years, she deserved some happiness, too.

"Yes, Mistress Malfoy! Sisidy makes Cinchona and Pip good Malfoy elves!" She scampered round Narcissa, snatched the hands of the new elves, and scurried away with them chattering animatedly.

"Pansy, I believe the invitation for your wedding indicated you're marrying in late January," observed Narcissa.

"Yes, ma'am," Pansy repeated, grinning from ear to ear now. "Gregory can't wait."

"Gregory?" teased Narcissa, remembering the anticipation before her own nuptials. Lucius had been chomping at the bit for months, and while she'd been as elated to be married as he was, the wedding night had held an uneasy fear for her. "You're not anxious at all?"

"Well, yeah," confessed the girl, giggling and ducking her head. "It's kind of scary and exciting. I can't really talk to mum about it, though."

"Don't worry, it'll turn out fine. I'm sure your mother's done her planning very well," Narcissa assured her.

"I wasn't talking about the _wedding_," Pansy clarified in a confidential tone, leaning in close. "I meant what comes _after_."

"I know," laughed Narcissa, patting the girl's arm. "I couldn't talk to my mother about _that_, either—and I didn't want to talk to Bella about it. Let me just tell you that as long as you and Gregory love each other, it will be wonderful."

"You and Mr. Malfoy are still happy after all these years, aren't you?"

Narcissa nodded while rubbing her abdomen lovingly. "Yes, we are."

"We're going to do what you did." Pansy hesitated to see if the woman caught her drift; she did not, as evidenced by the quizzical look. "The Unbreakable Vow of fidelity. Draco told Gregory about it years ago, and he wants to do it….in a way I think he's still insecure about Draco," she admitted ruefully. "I wish he'd get over it already."

"Is that what you want—the Vow?" asked Narcissa.

Pansy chewed her lip thoughtfully, then shrugged. "I don't see the harm of it. I don't plan to cheat, and Gregory won't be able to, so that's good. And he won't have to be worried or jealous over me, either, and maybe he and Draco can be friends again."

Lips pursed slightly, Narcissa considered what Pansy had said. Was she doing this for Draco and Gregory? Did it matter one way or the other why she was doing it? It was doubtful Draco cared anymore about being friends with Goyle, but who knew the boy's mind, he'd become so secretive lately. If the youngsters wanted the Vow, it was their right. "My sister is gone for the day, why don't you come have tea with me?"

"Thank you, but I should get home. I'll tell mum you were pleased with the elves, okay?" She smiled shyly. "And thanks for the talk, it was nice."

"You're welcome back anytime," invited Narcissa. Since Andromeda had come back into her life, she'd begun to remember how much she enjoyed and missed 'girl talk'. With her sister in the process of moving into Black Manor as they spoke, she thought perhaps it was time she reconnected with old friends before the baby was born and she had no time for friends!


	31. Boys to Men

Death Eater No More—Chapter Thirty-One (Boys to Men)

Severus was nervous. No, that was a lie—he was scared, and there wasn't a lot in heaven or hell that could make him admit such a thing to anyone, even himself. Yet here he stood on the frozen lawn of Bayly Young's house, stomach flip-flopping like a drunken trapeze artist, starting to hyperventilate.

"Calm down," he muttered aloud as if his body and mind would miraculously respond to his threatening demeanor. It may work against others, but it was woefully inadequate against himself.

He'd never before cared about the reception he'd receive from a student….but he'd never before had one stolen out from under his prominent nose and subjected to systematic, pitiless torture on a grand scale. What would be the after effects of the boy's ordeal? Would he ever fully recover? Despite the fact that many believed Severus to be without emotion, he felt every bit as keenly as the next person; he was merely better at hiding it. Yes, he conceded—a very painful concession—he was afraid, not for himself but for Bayly, for what he'd find once he got up the gumption to approach the house.

Dry, brittle grass covered with ice crunched under his boots as he forced himself to march over the yard. He paused before mounting the steps, his attention captivated by what looked like a mess of straw dolls thrown in a pile over the rail. Eyes riveted to the figures, he leaned down and picked one up. Indeed it was a simple representation made of corn husks twisted and bound into the basic shape of an ordinary doll, with one great exception: its head had been severed.

He tossed the figure down and knelt beside the mound of perhaps thirty such dolls and sucked in a breath. Every one was decapitated, most were grossly disfigured with deep slashes….and mingled among the bodies he found several heads, all of them charmed to look like Dolohov. While he was no psychologist, he had to assume this didn't bode well.

Out of habit he checked his wand, making sure it was within easy reach. He briefly mused that he really ought to get one of those wrist holsters like Bayly had. Heaving a cleansing breath, he stood up, squared his shoulders, and stomped up the steps. "Miss Young, it's Severus Snape!" When there was no answer he knocked loudly. His hair blew into his face and he flipped it off with a toss of his head; a second gust settled it over his features again, and he removed it with an impatient thrust of his hand.

"She's not here," said Bayly's voice from behind the curtained door. "She's at work."

Ah, the boy was here. It was now or never. "Bayly, may I come in?"

Several seconds ticked by before, to Snape's consternation, the lad answered in a high, strained voice that sounded uncertain and shaky. "No, sir. I can hear you from here."

"It's cold out here," Severus stated.

Another pause, even longer than the first. When the door unlocked and opened, Bayly was nowhere to be seen, and as Severus entered he heard footsteps pounding down the hall and the slamming of a door. He closed the front door with a click and followed the path the youth had taken through the living room, into the hall; two rooms were on his right, the first open. He passed it by and rapped on the second.

"You can open the door, I will not harm you."

Bayly appeared not to have heard, though certainly he couldn't have missed it. "Mum's sorry."

Snape wrinkled his brow and leaned in closer to hear the muffled voice. "Sorry for what?"

"She said she yelled at you, only it wasn't your fault, she was upset is all," Bayly answered, his syllables stringing rapidly together lest he lose his nerve. "I'm glad you came, I really need to thank you for killing _him_. I should've said that when you—when we were there. I wanted you to know."

It was Severus' turn to hesitate, more from outright dismay than anything. How did one properly respond to overt gratitude for killing a human being, even one as vile as Dolohov? You're welcome? Any time? "I'm only glad we were able to rescue you. How are you?"

Again the boy dodged the subject. "Back there, where you found me—I heard you talking to Mr. Malfoy. You thought I didn't hear, but I did. You said you had no business being Headmaster. Are you going to quit?"

"I've thought a lot about it," Severus replied warily. Was this the reason Bayly had wanted to see him, to ask him to resign? Not that he'd blame the kid. "I'm considering it."

"Why?"

_Why_? Severus blinked back his surprise. "You, of all people, ask me that?"

An unmistakable tinge of shame colored Bayly's words, muted as they were through the wood. "That was pretty dumb of me. I'm disgusting, I don't blame you for wanting to get away from Hogwarts so you won't be near me. If I had a choice, I wouldn't be near me, either."

"_What_?" exclaimed Snape, his dismay morphed to utterly gobsmacked. The boy actually believed Severus would quit his job so as not to have to endure his presence? What the hell had happened to him that he'd think so little of himself? "Bayly, it's not you! I'm the one who failed you, how can I in good conscience return?"

"You saved me; how is that failing me?"

"Well, I—I don't know," Severus sputtered. "It's more complicated than that." Now the brat was deliberately mucking up the issue to confuse him! "Must I speak to a door?"

The door opened a crack, enough for Severus to see a sliver of Bayly's face. "No, it isn't complicated. You're a good Headmaster, the kids need you." He wanted to say he liked Snape, who'd always been decent to him, but at this point he didn't think the man wanted to hear such tripe, not from the pitiful likes of him. He glanced down nervously and shrugged. "Besides, it's not like you'll have to see me or anything. Mum said I don't have to go back to school."

That stopped Severus' thought processes in mid-stream. "What do you mean you're not going back? You ought to finish your education."

Bayly shook his blond head softly. "I can't, sir. I don't belong there, I don't deserve to be there."

For any other student Severus would have been tempted to grab them by the arms and shake some sense into their brainless little heads; that seemed inappropriate at the moment, all things considered. Nevertheless, his voice rose with suppressed emotion one might take for wrath. "Don't you ever say such a thing. You belong as much as I ever did, you have as much right to be there as anyone! Who told you such nonsense?"

"Dad," admitted Bayly quietly.

Snape bit down so hard on his lip to keep from shouting that his tooth ruptured the lip and blood began to seep into his mouth, the familiar taste of his own upbringing flooding his tongue. "He lied," clipped Severus finally. "He was very good at that."

"Even if you're right, I can't face them, Professor. I saw the newspaper, everybody will know what he did to me. They'll make fun of me, call me weak and pathetic."

"They will not. You have my guarantee on that." _They won't dare if they know what's good for them!_ Children could be cruel, no doubt of that, but what kind of malevolent person would taunt a boy who'd been tortured? He could think offhand of a few from his past who fit that category. If one of his wretched little charges so much as looked crosswise at Bayly he'd string them up in the dungeons and let Filch take care of their punishment!

"It's embarrassing," persisted the boy, pleading. In a whisper he added, "And scary."

"I know," Severus acknowledged in the gentlest tone he could manage with his fury building up inside him.

How well he knew what it was like to attend a school where the other students mocked and bedeviled, making every day a fear-filled trial of what would happen next. And he hadn't even undergone the kind of trauma Bayly had; regardless of Lucius' assurance that Bayly hadn't been molested, the boy's behavior bespoke something else, something sinister that gave Severus a peculiar gnawing sensation in the pit of his gut. Dolohov had been one of the most evil men Severus had ever met; whatever he'd done to his son—and he recognized without a doubt the wizard had done something terrible—the wicked deeds had left no scars he could see, yet they were almost palpable.

"I have faith in your ability to cope," he declared.

"I'm not brave," said the youth stubbornly, refusing to yield ground.

In a lazy drawl, a smirk playing across his features, Severus challenged, "Really? You stand there defying me and contradicting me like few pupils ever have and you claim not to be brave? It's either that or stupid, and you certainly aren't stupid."

"Everybody's afraid of you 'cause they think you're cruel, but I don't. You might yell or whip a kid who deserves it, but you care about your students, you wouldn't really hurt them," Bayly remarked with an innocence that made Snape's smirk falter.

"The other students have known me longer than you have," he snapped, just a bit put out that Bayly could see through him so easily. Besides, there _were_ a few pupils he wouldn't mind tossing from the Astronomy Tower to see how high they'd bounce! _Get to the point, Snape!_

"Dolohov was wicked by any standard, yet you somehow kept that maniac from murdering you—I knew Dolohov, he had a short fuse, you had to play your cards right. And who was it that distracted him to give me the edge I needed to dispatch him?" Severus raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Doggedly rejecting any claim for the credit, Bayly shuffled his feet before he responded, "I only did what I had to do. I was terrified like the coward he always said I was."

"Bayly, look at me." He waited for the boy's eyes to drift from the floor upward to his face. "Do you think I am a coward?"

The youth answered vehemently, "No, sir! You've proven over and over how valiant you are."

"Then listen very carefully to me. Don't give credence to anything that savage Dolohov told you. He may have fathered you, but to my knowledge it is the only good thing he ever did. He was malicious and sadistic and he did everything in his power to make you feel like nothing, but he's the one who was worthless." Through the tiny opening of the door he saw Bayly's wide hazel eyes penetrating him, willing himself to believe, to accept what he was hearing. "Do you honestly believe I was never afraid when I stood in the presence of Lord Voldemort and lied through my teeth to him? Courage is not the absence of fear, it is doing what you need to do in spite of your fear."

Yet another torturously long pause while Bayly studied the professor's stern visage, the black eyes burning with a fire that he knew had to come from a reserve hidden deep within, the lank hair obscuring his features without obviously appearing to do so, the wiry body cloaked with black robes slightly too large for his thin frame. He hadn't the look of a mythical hero—nor even of someone he might call a nice bloke—yet when all was said and done Bayly respected him above any man he knew. And he'd said he thought it was a _good thing_ that Bayly had been born! If a courageous wizard like Snape thought he wasn't chickenhearted, maybe….maybe it was true. Perhaps he had his own reserve of strength hidden within.

"Alright, I'll go back to school." _I'll prove you can count on me, I won't be a baby._ Then he qualified his statement with, "_If_ you come back, too."

Severus scowled. "Blackmail? I wouldn't have thought it of you. That's hardly fair." Even so, his heart swelled with an odd pride—the kid had pluck!

"Life's not fair, is it, sir?" Bayly queried, his lips curling in a triumphant smirk worthy of any Slytherin, his Ravenclaw affiliation notwithstanding.

Not to be outdone by a teenager, Severus' mouth twisted into his own inimitable sneer as he hatched a deviously wonderful idea. No way was this little monster going to best him! And in the process, if all went well, he'd kill two birds with one stone, so to speak—get a monkey off his back and the kid back in school. "I have my own condition for returning as Headmaster. You are acquainted with our groundskeeper and Professor of Magical Creatures, Hagrid?"

"I've seen him, sir." Uh-oh. What did the giant have to do with this?

"I _may_ have promised—under duress—to begin teaching him magic. He knows some basic spells and such, but—well, I haven't a lot of free time, so I would take it as a favor if you substituted in for me." He waved a hand casually as if brushing away any concerns. "You'd only have to do simple things like charms and transfigurations. I don't want that oaf—er, over…coat wearing titan near the potions lab." _Nice save, Snape!_

Absolute silence while Bayly processed the request. His eyes, round with wonder, stared at Snape. Was he truly going to be entrusted with something so important? No, he'd probably misunderstood. After half an eternity he ventured, "You want me to be like a _teacher_?"

"That is the general idea."

Hesitantly, as if suspicious of the Headmaster playing a trick on him, Bayly said, "Uh, yes, sir. If you think I'm good enough."

"I would not suggest it if I had any reservations about your talent," replied Severus without a hint of sarcasm. "Are you accepting my counteroffer?"

Bayly nodded and grinned, letting the door slip open. For the first time since he'd rescued the boy, Severus caught a glimpse of the old Bayly, the one who was an excellent student, who was diligent and competent….and unafraid. It felt comforting to see; he only questioned how long it would last. With any luck the horrific ordeal would fade into a memory….but when had Severus ever been lucky?

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Father, won't Mother be upset if she finds out?" Draco asked as he dutifully trudged down the stairs after Lucius. In one hand he clutched a heavy blue cloak he'd been assured he'd need.

Lucius twisted his neck to look back at the lad and he smiled slyly. "Of course she would, which is why she won't find out. She has no objection to you spending time with me, and as far as she knows that's all it is."

At the bottom of the stairs he _accio_'d his cloak from the foyer and swung it round his shoulders, then led the way to the front door with Draco trailing behind donning his own cloak. On the porch he took hold of Draco's arm, giving his son a don't-you-dare-start-about-holding-your-hand glare, and disapparated with him.

They apparated to the old Scottish castle ruins, a place Draco had never been—hence the need to lead him here. The boy did a slow turn, taking in his surroundings: a large, empty field, sounds of ocean surf in the distance, and the dilapidated, crumbling walls of what had once in ages past been an imposing structure. Scarcely one rock now stood upon another.

"This dump used to be Voldemort's headquarters?" scoffed Draco.

"Yes, it did," Lucius confirmed, vaguely irritated by his son's tone and not sure why. It _was_ a dump, always had been, though it seemed to him even more demolished than he remembered. "The dark lord fixed up the inside quite impressively, considering what he had to work with; the less appealing the façade, the less interest anyone might have in investigating it."

Draco gestured toward the field covered with an inch of pristine snow. "That's where you practiced?"

"Yes, sometimes. Mainly the younger recruits and those less skilled were required to practice; periodically we trained them." He couldn't bring himself to mention it was also the site of torture scenes that he'd been compelled to participate in on occasion, though not so often as he had at the old farmhouse, no doubt only because Voldemort had gotten himself 'killed' and was indisposed for thirteen years.

Lucius glanced around, squinting a bit against the sun bouncing off the snow. He frowned. "They should have been here by now."

"Waiting on you, brother-in-law," came Rodolphus' clear, deep voice from the direction of the ruins.

From a broken arch the wizard came sauntering out, grinning and twirling his wand in his fingers. Behind him Rabastan emerged as well, shying back somewhat as the sun glinted in his face. He didn't look quite so pleased to be here as Rodolphus did.

"Find something of interest in there?" Lucius drawled, pointing his wand nonchalantly in the direction from which they'd come.

Rabastan snorted contemptuously. "Everything's been destroyed, the dark lord laid it all to waste—the kitchen, the meeting rooms, his quarters—all of it a pile of rubbish. You'd never guess it used to be grand….well, not what you're used to, Malfoy, but compared to this."

Lucius merely smirked though his grey eyes shone. "Voldemort's sense of style left something to be desired."

Draco noted how both of the other men winced at the name. Years of being taught to fear it had left their mark. Apparently they hadn't been hearing it on a near daily basis since the dark lord's fall. "Didn't you say there was an underground chamber, too?"

"At the farmhouse, yes," replied Lucius. "I don't know about here, I only spent time in the meeting rooms."

"There is," said Rodolphus suddenly. All eyes turned his way. "Bella spent more time here than anyone, she told me the master had created another level below, where the old dungeons were. He had all sorts of books and such—dark arts, naturally."

"Why didn't we find any passageway or opening?" asked Rabastan.

Rodolphus shrugged. "The master surely put wards around like he did at the farmhouse when he left it. If we tried hard enough, I think we could break them down."

The disbelieving looks and rolling eyes coming from the rest projected an air of disagreement. Lord Voldemort's spells weren't typically something you'd find in a Hogwarts textbook.

"Anyway," said Lucius, motioning at his son. "We came here to start training Draco to truly defend himself from the dark arts, I suggest we have at it. Rabastan, you demonstrate throwing standard curses at your brother, he'll block them."

"And what will _you_ be doing?" inquired Rabastan, crossing his arms.

"Explaining the spells you're using and the ones repelling them," crooned the other, cocking his head and painting on the semblance of an obviously false smile. "Shall we?"

Rodolphus walked off a piece, turned back to the group, and nodded. Not hesitating for a second, Rabastan threw a silent orange streak of light that barreled at Rodolphus, who moved his wand in a bored flip that knocked aside the curse with a green jet of his own.

"Come on, Rabby, is that all you've got?" he jeered.

Lucius, who stood beside Draco bending his neck close, murmured, "The orange one is _glubero corpus._ It severs a body at the point of impact, so don't ever let it touch you. Jump, run, deflect it—whatever you have to do. Roddy, what spell did you use?"

"_Avada kedavra_, silent version," answered the man.

"Tsk! I said not to use that one!" Lucius growled. "I don't want Draco learning it!"

"You're a couple years late for that, Father," Draco interjected, then hurriedly added, "But I wouldn't use it."

Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose. All he needed was a raging headache to go along with the frostbite eating away at his extremities! Huffing to himself, he cast a warming charm around Draco and himself. "Let's see a couple more demonstrations, then I'd like Draco to practice casting these new curses at us. Once he's strong enough, we'll throw them back at him and he'll block."

Everything ran according to plan for all of an hour which, on the whole when toying with dark arts, wasn't too shabby. Draco had learned three valuable new spells and exhibited a great deal of power when casting them, a fact that made Lucius puff with pride and the other men heartily congratulate the youth.

Regrettably, one unaccustomed to having life threatening curses hurled one's way tends to freeze up when said spells come crashing around. More than once Lucius bellowed frantically at the boy to dodge while Lucius deflected the curses away from him and Draco ended up flat on the ground, splayed out in the no longer pristine snow.

After one such display Lucius stalked over, picked his son up by the scruff of his neck, and growled in his face, "I told you this was no game, son! These aren't jellylegs and boils hexes, they're dangerous! If you're going to learn you need to take charge and be ready to dispose of your opponent. Cringing in the snow won't cut it!"

"I was ducking, not cringing. I'm trying, I just get nervous knowing you're all more experienced than I am," Draco murmured, his face burning red at being scolded in front of the Lestranges. "Those hexes are deadly."

"All the more reason to get out of their way," retorted his father. "Rodolphus, your turn." Lucius, conspicuously enough, had foregone taking his own turns in order to make sure Draco came to no harm. He stood close by, and in a low voice he advised the boy, "As soon as you deflect his curse, fire one back at him."

Draco straightened and braced himself for the coming onslaught, thinking as he did so that he'd barely escaped alive up to this point, and he'd been ready for the attacks. How would he survive if a curse came at him unannounced out of the blue?

A violet flame streaked his way and he held his ground, more afraid of his father's invectives than the engulfing fire this curse brought with it. A flick of his wand with a silent _stupefy_ turned it aside, but rather than lower his wand he did as his father had ordered: he shot back a _glubero corpus_ with all his might.

Not anticipating such aggression, Rodolphus had lowered his wand after his spell; only reflexes born of years of dueling saved him from a nasty injury involving loss of an arm at the shoulder. He swiftly diverted the curse away from himself, but his brother wasn't quite so fortunate.

Rabastan had begun walking over to position himself for his turn to attack Draco. The orange jet, which ricocheted off Rodolphus' countercurse, brushed against his thigh, ripping into the flesh and causing him to cry out in a startled grunt as he fell to the ground clasping a hand to the wound that seemed to be gushing more blood than Draco imagined a body could hold.

"Dolph, help me!" screamed Rabastan, unnecessarily. Rodolphus had bolted for him the moment he noticed his spell gone awry.

Rodolphus dropped to the ground beside his brother and tore the bloodied trousers away from the gaping slash. Muttering an incantation he'd learned from Snape, he drew his wand along the wound, closing it neatly. Another spell _scourgified_ the area. "You okay, Rabby?"

Rabastan flexed his leg, grimacing. "No, something's wrong. It still hurts."

"Let me see," Lucius said, crowding in while Draco stood on the fringe gawping down at the man in horror, not noticing the red stains creeping over the slushy snow toward him. With his fingers Lucius probed and squeezed the leg, evoking soft moans from Rabastan. "The muscle's been cut, it hasn't healed." He searched his memory for the proper healing charm, many of which he'd acquired from his father, and many more from Severus, both of whom would be ashamed to think he couldn't repair a mere muscle slice. He grinned suddenly, the spell leaping to his mind. How ridiculously simple! "_Reparo musculus_."

Rabastan tested his leg again, this time with a smile. "Thanks, Lucius."

Malfoy nodded with a light incline of his head. "It's the least I could do." _Seeing as my son delivered the blow, at my urging._

"I'm so sorry, Rabastan, I didn't mean it!" blurted Draco, who looked on the verge of tears. His eyes swam like saucers on his face.

Rodolphus got up and draped an arm over the boy's shoulders, his bulk dwarfing the thin lad. "It's okay. It happens, kid." He gave a reassuring squeeze to his nephew.

"Yeah, don't sweat it," Rabastan agreed. He pointed his wand at the rip in his trousers to seal the tear and got to his feet as well. "We've all been hurt plenty of times, and caused our share of injuries."

"But I could have killed you," Draco countered, a little confused. Why was no one angry?

"That's kind of the objective," said Rodolphus jovially, smiling. "My compliments on your quick shot. You caught me off guard, but it won't happen again."

Lucius, who'd gotten up and _scourgified_ himself thoroughly until he looked perfect (or presentable by Malfoy standards), addressed the gathering. "Draco, I think this is enough for today. Gentlemen, would you be so kind as to assist us next week?"

"Sure," said Rabastan.

"Not a problem," responded Rodolphus.

"Then I thank you and we will see you then." He noted how Draco purposely edged too far away to be snatched and taken as a side-along, and he chuckled inwardly. The boy had grown up, he didn't want his father making him look like a child in front of others. It was just as well, Draco knew now how to get here; he ought to be able to apparate home without incident. He disapparated, leaving Draco to his own devices.

As the boy readied to go, Rabastan called after him, "Better practice up, kid. Next time we'll show you some pretty lethal spells!"

As if the ones today hadn't been? Gulping and turning a bit green, Draco disapparated; Rabastan and Rodolphus burst out laughing at the sight. It wasn't every day they got to see a Malfoy discombobulated, but it was well worth the wait.


	32. School Days

Death Eater No More—Chapter Thirty-Two (School Days)

"Would you ladies excuse me for a moment?" Without waiting for a response from the four women munching cookies and gossiping about the latest scandals, Narcissa struggled her way out of her armchair in the front parlor and lumbered out. Doubtless her friends gathered for tea would assume she had to use the loo again which, now that she thought of it, she did have the urge.

Nevertheless, she'd noticed Draco slinking past, and it wasn't like him to fail to acknowledge her. He'd grown up watching his father fawn after her, always hunt her down to snog immediately upon arriving home from wherever he may be, and Draco had—like a good little son—always mimicked the action with his own kiss on the cheek.

She stepped into the hallway, whose white marble normally glistened from the elbow grease Sisidy put into keeping the floor spotless; right now it sported small patches of slushy snow where puddles of water tinged pink dotted his trail. Narcissa frowned, her blue eyes clouding.

"Draco, come here!" she called to his retreating back. Even as she spoke she'd begun to walk toward him.

Draco halted at the command, though he seemed ambivalent over whether to obey. Good sense prevailing, he spun on his heel and backtracked along the hallway, his shoes clicking much more loudly than they had when he'd tried to slip past unnoticed. The sound reverberated rather disquietingly.

"Yes, Mother?" From force of habit he leaned in and gave her a kiss. "I didn't want to disturb you when you're with your friends."

"Spare me, son. I know you better than that," she answered dryly. "Where have you been?"

In a flurry Draco searched his mind, his eyes growing larger with each heartbeat that banged mercilessly against his chest. Where had Father told her they were going? He hadn't bothered to ask!

"He was with me, of course," drawled Lucius, strolling up cat-like behind the woman to embrace her and nuzzle her neck. He let his lips linger over her smooth, delicious skin as he inhaled her scent.

Narcissa caught her breath at his voice; after so many years he could still steal up on her without her hearing. Her eyes drifted from son to father and back again. Lucius must have stopped to leave his cloak in the foyer, for Draco had his on, and Lucius' face gave her goosebumps from the chill of it. "Alright then, where were _you_?"

"Taking in the lovely weather, my dear. Brisk and nippy, just as I like it," he replied smoothly. It may be a glaring omission, but it wasn't exactly a lie.

Narcissa cocked her head, looking askance at him. When had Lucius taken a shine to a frigid climate? "Fine, you two were out enjoying the weather," Narcissa conceded, turning to face her husband with a fierce expression that sent warning bells clanging through his skull. "Explain to me why there is blood on Draco's shoes."

Automatically man and boy's identical grey orbs flashed downward, Lucius' gaze devoid of any incriminating emotion. Sadly, his son had not yet learned the art of mastering the masks, and Draco gasped audibly. A swift movement of Lucius' wand eliminated not only the offending liquid from the soles of the boy's footwear, but the mess along the hallway as well.

"I don't know what you mean, love," he said while his demeanor blasted daggers at his son.

"Don't play games with me, Lucius! If you're taking Draco out killing people, I won't have it! _I won't_!" shrieked Narcissa, whose volume by the last two words had risen to an ear-shattering decibel that Lucius felt sure the ladies in the parlor must have heard and be wondering what that was all about.

He paused to let the ringing in his ears die down, then listened for chatter to resume in the parlor. Satisfied that they'd gone back to their prattling, he took her hand to calm her and she yanked it away. "Narcissa, I told you before and I'll tell you again: _I never killed anyone_. Do you honestly think I'm brutal enough to wish to wantonly murder? Do you think I'm stupid enough to want to endanger myself or my family ever again?"

Narcissa's brow puckered. He had a point. Family meant the world to Lucius; he'd escaped Azkaban by the skin of his teeth not many months before, certainly he wouldn't court trouble. But she knew what she saw. In an ominously quiet voice that demanded truth she queried, "What is going on?"

Before replying Lucius sent a silencing charm around the three of them; no need to give those gossips more to talk about. "Rodolphus, Rabastan, and I were training Draco and there was a minor mishap."

"How minor? Are you alright, baby?" Narcissa's hands flew to the boy's face as she studied him up and down.

"It's not me, Mother. I, uh…I kind of hurt Rabastan—it wasn't my fault, really. Uncle Rodolphus ricocheted the curse—"

"Draco!" Lucius warned in a jaw-clenching hiss.

"Curse?" repeated Narcissa. From confused she rapidly shifted to livid. "_Curse_? Lucius, you're teaching him the dark arts after everything that's happened?"

"Yes," the man admitted, looking wholly unrepentant. In fact, he lifted his chin a notch. "After what happened to Bayly Young, I determined to make sure my son could protect himself."

Unwilling and unable to argue that particular point, Narcissa countered with, "But why dark magic? He can protect himself with light magic."

"He needs to be trained to defend himself _from_ dark magic, Narcissa. The best way to do that is to become skilled at what he's up against. I hate to say it, but dark magic is generally stronger, it will take an enemy out of the fight in a hurry. Incapacitating the opponent makes it less likely Draco would be hurt." He sniffed, crossing his arms and giving Draco a disdainful cluck of his tongue. "It's a good thing I took the initiative, the boy obviously learned very little about dueling at Hogwarts."

Draco flushed and scowled. "Dumbledore never allowed dueling, and—" His mouth snapped shut at a single motion from his father, who then turned his head toward the parlor.

Andromeda had come out to see what was keeping her sister and, spying the men, she smiled and made a beeline for them. She wore a pair of faded Muggle blue jeans and a pink T-shirt, which Lucius winced to see. Her mousy brown hair clipped in a short bob bounced along as she moved, and if her face hadn't born a resemblance to Narcissa one might wonder what a Muggle was doing at Malfoy Manor. Lucius groaned, but he lifted the silencing spell and plastered on a gracious face—something he found increasingly easy to do, a fact that disturbed him just a touch.

"Andromeda, how are you this fine afternoon?" he asked. Solely to ingratiate himself with his wife, he bent in to give the woman a peck on the cheek.

Both women looked beyond shocked, but pleased. Draco appeared to have swallowed a camel. In school Andy had been friends with Lucius, in that long ago time before she'd been forced from the family for the crime of loving a Muggleborn. Lucius had been a mere fifth year when she graduated and ran off with Ted, yet she'd regretted losing his friendship. The betrayal of his values had shone like icy rocks in those grey eyes, and until a week ago she'd never considered they'd ever have a chance to be close again.

"I'm well, thank you. Are you gents going to join us in the parlor?"

Lucius sneered at the idea that anyone would actually believe he wanted to sit there listening to a bunch of busybodies dig dirt on their peers. After all, Narcissa would tell him if anything interesting came to light. "No, thank you. Draco's got studying to do, and I'd like to relax for a while before dinner."

"Well then, I'll just drag your wife back to her tea party," Andy said, linking arms with the still-dumbstruck Narcissa. "I'll see you at supper."

She and Narcissa made their way down the hall while Lucius and Draco strode off in the opposite direction. Only when they'd got far enough away that the women couldn't hear did Draco venture to ask.

"Father, what was _that_?"

"What was _what_?" Lucius replied, feigning innocence.

"You kissed Aunt Andy!" the boy yelped. "You hate blood traitors."

Lucius stopped walked and grabbed Draco's arm to pull him to a halt as well, swinging him around to face him. He regarded his son carefully; how he regretted the damage he'd caused the boy! If the only way to repair it—or attempt to do so—was by example, he'd lead the way for Draco's sake. It went against everything he'd ever believed, every fiber of his being, yet even Abraxas had counseled him to change for Draco's sake…even he had seen no alternatives.

"Draco, what is our primary rule?"

"_A Malfoy doesn't cry in public_," quoted the lad quickly.

"Not that one," Lucius chided.

"_True purebloods strive for perfection, they don't wallow in mediocrity_," Draco amended, raising his eyebrow.

"That's a good try, but no."

"_Malfoys walk with pride_?" asked Draco, becoming both nervous and irritated.

Lucius stamped a foot. "No! _A Malfoy does what he has to do to accomplish his goals_," he snapped. "I'd think you could have got it by now."

"I only had like a thousand to choose from," Draco returned insolently. "What about it?"

"We are going to follow it, son. We've discussed this, Draco; in order to regain our stature in society, we must bend to forces we cannot control. Therefore, we will not refer to your mother's sister as a blood traitor any longer."

"I understand," said Draco snidely. "We have to act like traitors and mudbloods are equals." The distaste in his voice showed plainly on his face in the wrinkling of his nose and pursed lips.

"Precisely so, beginning with your aunt. And wipe that nasty look off your face before I do it for you," Lucius growled. Honestly, the boy was a Malfoy, why couldn't he hide his emotions accordingly? "We are going to pretend until it comes naturally, is that clear?"

"Yes, Father." Draco made as if to go, then turned back. "What did you mean by I have studying to do?"

"The curses you've just learned aren't going to practice themselves, are they? Next time Rabastan and Rodolphus may have something more insidious planned."

The ill expression of earlier at the castle crept back over Draco's face. They really knew curses worse than these he'd learned? It was going to be hard, dangerous work learning to compete with Death Eaters!

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

The Great Hall, decked out in all the gay colors of each House, was ready to receive the students back for the spring term. Tables laden with food and dinnerware awaited the pupils, whose voices could be heard drifting up the corridor. At the front, as always, was the staff table where the teachers were gathering and greeting one another. Severus perched uncomfortably in the golden chair reserved for the Headmaster wishing the whole ridiculous scene were over and they could go on like any other day. At least they'd finally left off welcoming him back as though he'd actually _gone_ anywhere to begin with! No, he spoke too soon.

Minerva, noticing him sitting there alone, made her way over to stand beside him. As usual, her hair was pulled so tightly into a bun the skin on her face stretched a bit. "I was of the impression you were hell-bent on not returning," she said with a puckered smirk, secure in the knowledge that her entreaties had been successful.

Severus sneered up at her. "My apologies. Did I disappoint you?"

Her smirk morphed into the more suited McGonagall prudish pursing of her lips. "Certainly not. May I ask what changed your mind?"

"Bayly Young, if you must know," he answered martyr-like. "The brat coerced me into it."

In a most unladylike maneuver, Minerva snorted and began to chortle. "Now _that_ I'd pay good money to see! Someone, a student no less, forcing _you_ to do what you are adamantly opposed to—or so you say."

"Professor Snape, it's so good to have you back!" Hermione rushed past McGonagall with barely a nod of acknowledgement to clasp one of Severus' hands between hers. Appalled beyond words, Snape merely jerked his hand back, though he demonstrated prodigious will power in not drawing his wand. "You had me—I mean everybody worried that you wouldn't return."

Regaining his voice along with his composure, Severus responded in a deceivingly calm tone, "For future reference, Miss Granger, I do not appreciate people touching my hands without permission."

"Yeah, Hermione, what're you doing? Flirting with him?" Harry laughed. He'd come up behind his friend to welcome the other teachers and couldn't resist a tease.

"Oh! I—I—that's so—" sputtered Hermione, her face as red as her blouse. "I was being _nice_! You might want to give it a try!"

"It was just a joke. Ron would think it was funny."

At the mention of Weasley, Hermione inhaled sharply, her face contorted, and she fled with tears streaming down her cheeks.

"What's her problem?" Harry asked to no one in particular.

Severus watched the scene with a hint of amusement. "Well done, Potter. You've sent yet another young lady screaming away from you. Quite the lothario, aren't you?"

"Huh?" grunted Harry, who was busy staring after Hermione's retreating form. He repeatedly ran his fingers through the snarled bird's nest of his hair.

_He's a Gryffindor; that necessitates the use of small words_, Severus reminded himself. He sighed. "Perhaps you should go after her."

"Right!" agreed Harry. "Well, see you later then." He bolted off after Hermione.

Severus leaned forward, put his elbows on the table, and dropped his face into his hands. It was bad enough the teachers were being so nauseatingly nice to him he wanted to hurl. But the first evening back and already there was drama….that wasn't a good omen. Not that he gave a rat's ass, but he was a bit curious as to Granger's moody little display. Very unlike the uptight know-it-all.

"Severus."

He nearly jumped. He'd forgotten Minerva was still standing there. "Yes?"

"Forgive me if I'm out of line, but quite often younger people develop crushes on authority figures. There isn't anything going on between you and Hermione…is there?"

Severus' eyes snapped open. He lifted his head ever so slowly and swiveled it in the direction of the Transfiguration professor, his eyes pools of fathomless ink. No she did _not_ just imply what he thought he heard! "Pardon?"

Minerva had the decency to look embarrassed. "Well, you're both adults, if you—"

"Yes, Minerva, I've been after the wench since she was eleven!" Snape huffed caustically, rolling his eyes and trying extra hard to shove down the gags. "Good Lord, woman, Miss Granger was my _student_! Don't be repulsive."

"Well," she said in a flustered manner, patting her bun and glancing about. "Oh, look, the pupils are coming in." She scuttled away to her seat, pointedly avoiding any further eye contact with him.

True enough, hordes of children were streaming in and breaking into groups to go off to their respective tables. Severus noted with a strange sinking feeling that Bayly wasn't among them, though he really saw no cause for alarm. Not even half the seats were filled yet, surely he'd be coming in any minute—unless the blasted, tricky little wretch had put one over on him and he hadn't ever intended to come back to Hogwarts! No, that wasn't his style…was it? He really didn't know the boy well enough to say, but he'd have been willing to bet Young meant what he'd said.

"There's a fight in the corridor!" a Hufflepuff girl's shrill voice rang out. The messenger then darted back out of the Great Hall so as not to miss too much of the excitement.

Many of the pupils already seated or milling about headed for the door in gleeful anticipation, to be stopped by Minerva's equally shrill and far more commanding, "_Sit down this instant!_"

Reluctantly, grumbling, they obeyed. Minerva rushed around the table to catch up to Snape, Aline, Flitwick, and Sprout, who were storming down the center aisle looking like a wizard team of X-Men. They burst through the open door and headed for the noise of cheering that always accompanied any school fight, which was impossible to miss, as was the large congregation of students in their school robes blocking the hall and loudly egging on the combatants.

A few flicks of Snape's wand sent children hurtling left and right, bouncing against each other as they cleared a path for him. He marched right up to the area where, contrary to his expectations, there was not a single fight going on, but _multiple_ scuffles—none of them involving duels. Most peculiar!

"That. Is. _Enough_!" he barked, his voice echoing in the suddenly deathly quiet corridor.

Every participant froze in place in horrified shock, allowing the teachers to get a good look at the action. Slytherins Madison Harper and Nina Reynoso had been in the process of pantsing a Hufflepuff by the name of Keith Killarney; Floyd Warner, Ravenclaw, lay on the floor curled in a ball to protect himself from a very large Gryffindor named John Blake, whose foot wisely inched away from Warner's stomach under the scrutiny of the adults. On his back, her hands twisted in his long black hair, he carried a raging Ravenclaw Gloria Livingston. Most surprising of all, Luna Lovegood gazed up innocently at the Headmaster, a gesture that might have carried weight had she not been clenching Gryffindor Clive Fields in a headlock.

If the situation weren't so serious, Severus would have laughed at the sight of Luna, of all people, involved in a common brawl. Nonetheless, adept as he was at hiding his sentiments, he merely drawled, "Miss Lovegood, perhaps you failed to notice this when you were sorted, but you are NOT a Gryffindor. Show some decorum."

He ignored the indignant gasp coming from McGonagall. No doubt if these hooligans' discipline were left to _her_, Gryffindor House would be up by 100 points and go out for ice cream in Hogsmeade! Luna let go of Clive and backed away while Gloria slid off Blake's back, giving a hard 'accidental' tug to his hair as she did so; he yelped and swiped at her, earning him a glower from the Headmaster that stopped him in his tracks. Floyd moaned once and stayed where he was.

Snape looked round the circle of guilty faces, gauging each child with what he knew of them. Nina and Madison wouldn't dare lie to him, he'd been their Head of House for several years and they knew better than to try. He also noted with a hint of satisfaction the two Slytherins' intimidation at the furious looks coming from Professor Conn….perhaps he hadn't made such a bad choice for their Head of House after all. Luna would be honest even if it incriminated herself—in fact, she may take too much blame on herself in order to spare her mates. The Hufflepuff and the Gryffindors he wouldn't trust as far as he could throw them without a wand.

He made a sweeping gesture at the gaping onlookers. "Go to the Great Hall. If I or any other teacher catches you in the corridor, you will be very sorry indeed."

He waited for them to file away, busying himself with kneeling beside Floyd and waving his wand in diagnostic spells, relieved to find no severe injury. Even so, he chanted a healing spell over the abdomen before instructing the boy to get to his feet. When all the culpable parties stood facing him, he crossed his arms and resumed his unnerving, searching glare that made them squirm.

"Mr. Harper, explain," Severus commanded.

"Yes, sir. I was walking up from the dungeons with—"

"Get to the point."

"Yes, sir," he repeated, then licked his lips. "I was telling Nina that you had to be an awesome dueler cuz Dolohov was really good and you beat him, and Killarney came up behind me and said I outta know cuz my dad was probably a Death Eater, too."

"At which time you and Miss Reynoso attacked Mr. Killarney?"

"No, sir." The boy motioned at Clive. "Fields started talking trash about Bayly saying he was probably just like his dad and Luna told him to shut up, and he pushed her."

There was an audible murmuring among the teachers. _Luna_ had told someone to shut up? The fact that a boy had disregarded propriety and school rules to shove a girl was not lost on them, either.

"Where is Mr. Young?" asked Severus, suppressing any trace of interest. He hadn't seen him in the crowd, and apparently he hadn't been part of this fight.

"In our room," answered Floyd. "He said he wasn't hungry."

An off tingling of relief rushed through Snape—the boy hadn't lied to him, he'd showed up as promised. For some intangible reason it seemed very important to him, and the fact that it seemed important irritated him.

"Then Gloria kicked Fields, and Blake punched Warner for no reason, and it kinda went from there…" Harper's voice trailed off. My, he'd never noticed how clean the floors were for being such an ancient, drafty castle!

All eyes, including those of the staff, rested heavily on the Headmaster like a weighted cloak. Great. Perfect. Every House had been involved in the fracas, so taking off points would be fruitless unless he varied the amounts taken off by culpability, only then he'd have to listen to the Heads (i.e., McGonagall) bitch incessantly about unfairness, as if her House held the rights to justice, which for some godforsaken reason they seemed to believe. Besides, this situation was far more severe than point-taking could encompass. Brawling, bullying, taunting….the law must be laid down, and hard!

Severus' inscrutable gaze met that of each of the teachers. His word would stand, Headmasters had that privilege, but he didn't care to completely alienate the staff by outrageous punishment. It would be fair….whether the students or teachers _liked_ it may be another story.

"Each of you is at least moderately intelligent," he lectured the youngsters. "Hence, you cannot justify this behavior. In addition to appropriate punishment that I anticipate your Heads of House will dole out, you shall have the choice between submitting to a switching at my hand, or spending the next week as house elves." He paused amid the gasps and squeals to let it sink in. The look on everyone's face was priceless, he wished he could frame it and place it in his room.

His next pronouncement gave him great pleasure, knowing Minerva would be irate yet unable to show it. "Professor McGonagall will transfigure you, and although you will not live with the other house elves, you will share their duties. And naturally you'll be expected to keep up with your homework, which your Heads of House will provide for you."

Despite her desire to support the Headmaster, Minerva couldn't countenance such chastisement without protest. "Headmaster Snape, may I speak with you?"

"Of course, Professor," he replied in an oily tone. "As soon as we're done disciplining these ruffians we'll have plenty of time to chat. Students, make your decision."

"I'll be a house elf," Luna volunteered with an eagerness shining in her eyes. This would be something wholly new and exciting! Why was the Professor Snape acting like it was a punishment?

"I'd rather take the whipping," said Blake, shrugging. He'd been spanked at home plenty of times when he was a kid, how bad could it be? Even with Snape wielding the switch, surely it wasn't worth a week of elf drudgery!

"I didn't even do anything, Blake attacked me!" wailed Floyd.

By the time the choices had been made, four hideous elves bearing a haunting resemblance to humans were carted off by their Heads of House while the remaining four quaking youths had been hustled off to Snape's office to undergo their punishment. Severus hadn't physically chastised many pupils since instituting corporal punishment, though to say he had difficulty with it would be a wild stretch of the imagination. Years of being compelled to watch innocent people suffer unspeakably had inured him to the feeble shrieks and cries elicited by repeated application of a tree switch to the students' well-deserving rumps. With any luck it would do the brats some good.

When the last sobbing boy struggled up from where he'd been bent over the desk, tears running down his face, and began to rub his posterior gingerly, Severus handed him his outer robe and placed the instrument of discipline on a shelf behind his desk. His arm, exhausted from the sheer number of blows administered to the four teens, ached to the point of actually quivering in spasms, though he made no outward sign of it.

Now seemed as good a time as nay to inform the group of the one stipulation attached to their whippings. "Perhaps it is only fair to warn you that this switch is charmed. Any attempt on your part to use salves, potions, or spells to alleviate the pain or welts will result in a worsening of your condition."

Gloria burst into tears anew, and the three boys didn't look any happier with the news.

"Miss Livingston, Mr. Harper, I dare say you selected this punishment due to Quidditch concerns. Elves aren't known for being excellent players." Snape smirked at his cleverness. "I regret that practice might prove rather…distressing. Mr. Blake, Mr. Fields, your Gryffindor foolhardiness and tendency to cause trouble is well known, you need not demonstrate it at every opportunity. If there is a next time—and I stress IF—this little session will feel like love pats. You are all dismissed."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Bayly had been sitting on his bed since arriving back at Hogwarts. He couldn't face the huge crowd in the Great Hall, not yet. He needed to acclimate himself, take it slow. Tomorrow he'd have to go to classes, but he'd always been pretty good at avoiding people in the corridors…the girls he didn't fear, nor most of the boys. He raised a fist and punched himself hard in the thigh, grimacing as he reignited the pain of the bruise he'd put there days ago. Why should he be afraid of _any_ of them? He didn't used to be!

He reached into his trouser pocket and drew out his jackknife, pulled open the blade, and rested it on his wrist. No, not yet. He slid off the bed and went to the wall outside the curtains where he hesitated only momentarily, then slashed the razor sharp blade suddenly across his wrist. Immediately a line of red sprang to the surface, poured between the flesh boundaries, and dripped onto the stone floor. With his arm trickling blood the whole way, he circled the bed, ending up at the wall on the opposite side. Only then did he wind a handkerchief from his pocket around the wound and press it firmly.

"What the hell are you doing?" squeaked a voice in the doorway.

Bayly started, but seeing it was just an elf he relaxed again. "What do you care? And why are you in here?"

"This is my room," announced the ugly bald creature. It padded over, squirmed up onto one of the beds, and flung itself down flapping its huge ears. "I'm Floyd."

"No shit! What happened to you?" Bayly had forgotten about his wrist, which continued to ooze blood, as he studied the hideous little freak. Yes, he did look a bit like Floyd!

"Long story short—Snape gave me a choice of this for a week or a whipping. Now tell me what you're doing or I'll go to Flitwick," said Floyd in his awful high-pitched squeak. Coming from the appalling elf, it was hard to take the threat seriously.

"I'm putting blood wards around my bed," Bayly explained casually as if it were something one did every day. He flicked his wrist and his wand sprang into his hand. A series of unintelligible words gushed from his mouth.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" At the wide-eyed, guilty expression that greeted him, Floyd surmised probably from his dad. He hurriedly went on, "Why are you doing it?"

Bayly shrugged. "It's safer," he mumbled. No one not related by blood could breach the boundary; with Dolohov dead, that left only his mother, his uncle, and his cousins. It was the only way he'd found he could sleep now.

Floyd watched in silence as his roommate enchanted the area, as he saw wave after wave of barriers establishing themselves, coalescing finally into one shining gold ward that shimmered around the bed like an ethereal ring that slowly faded until no sign of it remained. At last he piped up, "It's done?"

"Yeah, it's done." Bayly crawled back onto the bed. He could feel the ward pulsing around him like a giant womb; it comforted him.

"Hey, are you hungry? I can pop down to the kitchen and bring us something to eat, nobody will even know. I'll blend right in," grinned Floyd.

Bayly opened his mouth to refuse, but the truth was he _was_ hungry. "Thanks, I'd appreciate it."

"That's what friends are for," answered Floyd, jumping down off the bed that was much too high for him. He trotted from the room, ears flopping as he bounded along. He actually looked forward to seeing what the real house elves thought of him!

Pulling his knees up to his chest, Bayly rocked back and forth in a slow, gentle rhythm. He unwrapped the handkerchief, _scourgified_ the cloth and the skin, then dragged the wand along his wound as he recited the spell Snape had taught him. He'd completely forgotten about it…..what was wrong with him? Why couldn't he remember anything anymore except the horror of those three days? No amount of _scourgifying_ could remove that.


	33. Day Two and Counting

Death Eater No More—Chapter Thirty-Three (Day Two and Counting)

Despite having seen Floyd the house elf last night, it nonetheless came as a minor shock to Bayly to find the tiny creature dressed in a pillowcase sitting on the bathroom sink brushing his teeth and humming. He blinked a few times, then went in.

"You're in a good mood, considering your situation," Bayly remarked. He picked his toothbrush off the row clinging to the wall, opened his jar of teeth cleaning powder, and dipped it in.

Floyd spit in the sink and lifted his oversized head. A blob of foam ran down his chin. "And you're looking surprisingly well after last night."

Bayly froze for a second, then casually wet the brush. "Meaning?" He carefully avoided any eye contact; his hand gripped the instrument so tightly his knuckles began to turn white.

"Meaning house elves apparently can't hold as much liquid as I drank last night and I had to go to the toilet." Floyd paused dramatically to rinse out his mouth several times, all the while observing the agitation building in his companion. "When I was passing your bed on my way back, I saw you tossing and screaming. I didn't hear anything, so I took for granted you'd put up a silencing charm….which is curious, considering you had to _assume_ you'd be screaming to put one up in advance."

Bayly stood rock still staring into the sink, panting slightly, his ablutions forgotten. Notably he didn't refute the charge; he'd been putting up silencing walls ever since the day his mother told him she'd heard him screaming and begged him to get counseling.

"Then I saw you lean over the edge of the bed and puke all over the floor," Floyd went on, wrinkling his nose. "Almost made me heave myself."

"Sorry," Bayly murmured, flushing and turning away. "I cleaned it up right away. I guess something I ate didn't agree with me."

Floyd didn't need to see Bayly's face to know he was lying. The boy's posture, his tone, the almost imperceptible trembling told him something was very wrong…and it wasn't a great leap to figure out what that 'something' was. He'd read the newspaper article about Bayly's abduction the same as everyone else, he'd winced over the description of Bayly's injuries as he fumed over how any father could do that to his son, Death Eater or not. Small wonder the kid was having nightmares.

"Maybe," Floyd conceded slowly, studying the other boy's pajama-clad back. "But what I thought was really weird was how you went in the bathroom and I heard the shower running for a long time. Since when do you shower at two o'clock in the morning?"

"I—I got some vomit on me, okay?" snapped Bayly. "What's with all the questions?"

"That was only one question," Floyd corrected him in his elf squeak.

"Don't you have some elf chores to do or something?" Bayly rammed his toothbrush in his mouth and began scrubbing vigorously. Inside he was quaking. Floyd had discovered his secret, what if he told Flitwick? Certainly the diminutive Head of House would grill him on the nightmares—and who knows what else.

Floyd hopped down from the sink, wiggled his ears because he could and he thought it was nifty, and ran his hands over his hairless, bumpy pate. "Have it your way. I have to go find Luna." Stumbling over his unnaturally large feet, he paused in the doorway to say, "Snape asked about you last night before supper…you know, after the little altercation. I told him you weren't hungry; don't make me keep lying for you."

"I didn't ask you to lie for me," intoned Bayly softly.

"Are you in trouble with Snape, is that why you're hiding out here?"

Bayly shook his head before ducking to spit and rinse. With his face in the basin he said, "I'm not hiding, I just have a lot on my mind. Thanks, though."

"Yeah, well, see ya later." The elf took off at a trot.

When Bayly went back to his room, his other roommates had already gone to breakfast. He shrugged. It was just as well, he'd rather dress in private, and he was intending to meet Gloria anyway. It bothered him, though, the way they'd looked at him the previous evening as if he were a stranger or an intruder. They'd spoken to him cordially enough—for being the son of a despised Death Eater. Dammit, it wasn't as if he'd chosen his father or any of the things that had happened! What gave them the right to pass judgment? Even Floyd's intrusive interrogations and pitying expression were preferable to being treated as he had been at the first—like he didn't belong.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Minerva caught sight of Severus stalking down the corridor toward the Great Hall and quickened her pace, her pointed shoes click-clacking ominously. Now was as good a time as any to confront him over yesterday's debacle. After thrashing the four students in his office, he'd gone straight to his quarters, leaving McGonagall the duty of welcoming back the students—and conveniently avoiding any disagreeable public squabbles.

Out of the corner of his eye Snape noted the woman pursuing him and cursed his luck. He could outrun her easily, he was substantially younger, but it would only delay the inevitable. When McGonagall had something on her mind, she was tenacious as a bulldog, and he couldn't evade her forever. He slowed his stride to match hers.

"Good morning, Minerva." His habitual blank expression conveyed nothing, waiting for her to initiate the discussion.

"Hello, Severus. You deliberately shirked our talk last night," she accused.

How predictable! Severus smirked. "Did I? I wonder why that might be. Could it be because I didn't want to hear you harping on the obscene miscarriage of justice wherein your precious brats got their comeuppance?"

"There! There it is!" uttered the witch, shaking her finger at the man as if he were a naughty toddler. "You're biased against Gryffindor and it shows."

"Boo-hoo," Severus growled back. "No one's _ever_ been prejudiced against Slytherin, have they? And as I recall, I treated your darling little lions no differently than I treated all the rest."

"Aside from your disparaging, snide, uncalled for comments denoting the 'lack of decorum' and stupidity of Gryffindors!" shrilled Minerva.

Severus was tempted to throw up a _muffliato_ to stifle the pitch. Seriously, he'd need Poppy to check for hearing loss if this continued! "In all fairness, if I _said_ half of what I _thought_ about Gryffindors, that might be out of line. Your students consistently demonstrate an inability to assimilate simple virtues like common sense and keeping their flippant mouths shut."

"Your attitude is blatantly skewed—it's outrageous!"

Snape stopped walking and wheeled on the witch, his black orbs snapping with a sudden fury, his jaw clenched tight. His voice, bubbling and seething with wrath, started out in a low rumble and rose to a crescendo as he ranted. "What is _outrageous_, Minerva, is to permit _your_ students to torment me for _seven f—king years_ while you looked the other way! What is _outrageous_ is for Sirius Black not only to permit me, but to encourage me to walk to my death in the Shrieking Shack, and when the bastard was discovered he received no discipline or punishment whatsoever! _That_ is outrageous! Dumbledore may be your icon of virtue, but he did little to safeguard me and a host of other students in these very hallways and schoolyard! Merlin's beard, he used your own golden boy Potter like a pawn in a chess game, so don't you dare lecture me about _outrageous_!"

Minerva simply gawped in unabashed dismay for a long moment. Properly contrite after the unexpected vitriol, she murmured, "I was merely pointing out that treating my House disrespectfully is counterproductive."

"Slytherin has weathered the disdain of every other House for decades, if not centuries. If they can endure, I think your cubs will be just fine."

Not to be dismissed without having her say, Minerva persisted, "I also maintain you went overboard with your punishment yesterday. My two boys couldn't even sit down last night, they had to kneel on the benches to eat."

"Good," clipped Severus, staring her down. "Maybe they'll learn something for a change, like not taunting and attacking their fellow students. As you may remember, corporal punishment was common practice here at Hogwarts until Dumbledore changed the policy. I haven't done anything that wasn't done for a thousand years before me—and if I may add, I was undoubtedly much more lenient than our forefathers, who were known to chain pupils in the dungeons!"

McGonagall sniffed. She couldn't deny any of that, and it weren't as if the children hadn't been warned what could happen, as the corporal punishment policy had been reinstituted months earlier. "Well, they weren't the only guilty parties."

"No, they weren't, but they _were_ instigators. Besides, they had the choice to be house elves and elected not to do so. Unlike Dumbledore, I shall do what is necessary for order and discipline in this school. 'Harmless harassment' is not welcome on my watch and will not be tolerated."

With that Snape whirled, billowing his robes in Minerva's face, and started down the hall once more at a brisk speed. Minerva didn't even try to catch up. She may be a Gryffindor to the core, yet she'd learned a thing or two over her years of teaching, and one of them was this: when a person got to the point of delivering a scathing diatribe detailing personal grievances, maybe it was time to back off.

Truth be told, Severus' diatribe consisted of verifiable ways in which he'd been wronged; she couldn't help but contemplate that her inaction in his youth had caused him much more suffering than need have been. It might be time to pull back and consider that he was trying to prevent other students from undergoing the same anguish he'd endured. Perhaps his methods were crude, but they weren't particularly harmful, and she had to admit they were effective. She'd never seen Fields or Blake so well behaved.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Bayly entered the common room in time to see Floyd bopping out the door with a similarly-clad girl elf who, while every bit as hideous as a real elf, had soft blue eyes and a long tuft of blond hair sticking up in the middle of her otherwise bald head.

"Hi, Luna!" he called.

The elf turned and grinned. "Hi, Bayly. Welcome back."

"Thanks, you too." He waved at the grotesque creatures as they disappeared out the door. Just as he was moving toward a sofa, he saw Gloria coming down the steps and headed for her instead. No words came to mind, nothing but the desire to hold her.

"Bayly," Gloria said quietly, sadly. She crossed the room to meet him and clasped her arms around his neck as he embraced her around the waist and pulled her to him like he never wanted to let go. "My parents wouldn't let me visit you, they were afraid….are you okay?"

"Please, let's don't talk about that," he pleaded in her ear, knowing what she meant. Any doubt was erased by the pity he detected. As it stood, it was too hard to keep the memories at bay. "I missed you so."

"Me, too," she answered, snuggling tighter. "But if you want to talk, I'm here."

Bayly said nothing, he merely swallowed a lump rising in his throat. His ordeal was too gruesome, too humiliating to share with _anyone_, let alone an innocent girl he was pretty sure he was in love with. He couldn't do that to her, and he didn't want those things in the open anyway. He'd tough it out, he'd prove to himself he was better than his father claimed.

After several minutes of simply holding on to her for dear life Bayly said, "Floyd told me you got your rump roasted. Feeling any better?"

Gloria winced at the reminder. "Bruised and sore. I don't know how I'm going to practice Quidditch."

"It'll be okay. I got whipped sometimes at Durmstrang, but in a day or two the pain recedes so it won't bother you." He didn't feel it necessary to point out that the teachers at Durmstrang used straps and rods, not a skinny switch, and that she'd got off with a very light chastisement.

"Next time I think I'll choose the elf option," she replied sagely.

"I hope there won't be a next time, young lady," Bayly scolded, pulling back to appraise her through adoring eyes, mischievous eyes. "You'd be pretty ugly, but I wouldn't abandon you."

She pushed him playfully, jostling him toward the door. "Come on, let's go get breakfast."

He took her hand and followed her down the tower, out into a main corridor where they hadn't gone five meters before a hulking, woolly figure lumbered up in front of them and clasped the young man on the shoulder so hard his knees buckled, eliciting a startled and painful yelp.

"Hey there! Yer Bayly Young, are yeh?" boomed Hagrid.

"Yes, sir," Bayly replied, rubbing his shoulder while staring up at the giant.

"Ah, well yer the feller I'm lookin' fer. Professor Snape said yeh might be helpin' me—yeh know, with my magic." He smiled good-naturedly as he patted his pockets, then withdrew a stick of wood, brandishing it proudly and causing the couple to duck. "Got me a new wand an' ever-thing."

"I see that. I'm pleased to meet you, sir." Bayly gave a formal bow then extended his hand to Hagrid. He promptly regretted doing so when the titan nearly pumped his arm off.

"None o' that 'sir' stuff with me, Bayly," Hagrid said, rolling his eyes and chuckling. "It's just plain ol' Hagrid."

"Yes, sir," replied the boy automatically. Old habits die hard, especially when speaking to a man literally twice his size. "When would you like to get started?"

"Today if I can, but I understand yeh got yer classes." Hagrid's bearded face projected a wistfulness that was hard to ignore. "Let me know when's a good time and yeh can meet me at my house."

Instinctively Bayly's stomach lurched. He'd seen Hagrid's hut off apart from the castle, it wasn't far…but he was a stranger, what if he turned out to be like the giants he'd read about? No, that was stupid, he chided himself. The Headmaster wouldn't allow a dangerous giant around the students! And Hagrid seemed genuinely nice, trustworthy.

"Sure, Hagrid, I'll arrange it as soon as possible. Anything in particular you want to learn first?"

That stopped Hagrid in his tracks, stumped. He hadn't expected to be able to dictate what he learned. For a long moment he stroked his beard, thinking. "Well, er, no. No, yer the teacher, you decide."

"Alright," said Bayly shyly. This was a far cry from Durmstrang where everything was regimented and students had no say. "I'll see you soon then."

Gloria waved to the giant as they went on by. Unable to hold it in any longer lest she burst she exclaimed, "Snape wants you to teach Hagrid?"

"Yeah, he asked me to," Bayly concurred, feeling rather proud of that truth. Soon enough his natural humility kicked in and he frowned slightly. Professor Snape had probably only offered to have him tutor the giant because he felt sorry for the poor little abused kid…and because he was too busy to do it himself. Even so, the fact remained he _had_ asked—and had said he thought Bayly was talented enough to do it. The boy smiled in spite of himself. If there was one thing he trusted at Hogwarts, it was Snape's word.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Aline hadn't visited the Muggle Studies classroom since—well, ever. She'd had no reason to until today, to deliver the potions Hermione had requested for headache relief and cough/cold cures….something about comparing their effectiveness to Muggle medicines. An interesting concept, she supposed, though obviously magical means would prevail. She lamented the fact that when she was in school she'd not had the opportunity to take a class like Muggle Studies, and she thought it wise on the Headmaster's part to require it for everyone. Even if the wizarding world was clearly superior, it was mind-expanding to learn about the rest.

"Oh!" Aline dodged and lifted her foot in the nick of time to avoid a miniature horseless carriage careening right toward her making a loud buzzing sound.

"Sorry, Professor Conn," Harry chirped, not looking sorry at all. He looked like he'd deliberately aimed the beast at her. Harry scurried over to the door to pick up his battery operated remote controlled car, lifting it up for her inspection and grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Pretty cool, huh?"

Frowning quizzically, Aline reached out cautiously to poke the car with one finger. "It feels a little warm, not cool," she replied.

There were a few titters among the students in the class. Having gotten used to Harry's 'Muggle speak', they now understood his slang and found it humorous that Professor Conn was out of the loop.

"It's a car—well, a toy car," Harry explained. "Have you seen one before?"

Aline shook her head, growing very interested. "I've seen real cars, of course, when I go to Muggle areas, but never a toy—and it moves by itself?" That seemed too close to magic for comfort.

"No, that's what this is for." Harry held up the controller. "Hermione and I are teaching the students a unit on Muggle transportation, and I thought it would be fun to let them play with the cars today after lecture." On his desk were six more of the toys, each different.

"It sounds enthralling," said Aline, eyeing the cars. "Would you mind if I sit in and listen?"

"Not at all, I'll even let you run this one," Harry laughed, tickled at the childlike excitement in her eyes. He had gotten used to the wonder in his students, but an instructor—that was a whole new ball game.

"Oh, here." Aline reached into her robes to withdraw two vials, which she plopped in his hand. "Professor Granger asked me to make these for her lessons."

"Great, thanks!" Harry walked over, opened the desk drawer, and carefully set them inside. "You can sit wherever you like."

Aline glanced around. Rather than cozy up with the students, making her feel twelve years old, she opted to glide to the front of the room and sit on the corner of the desk. From there she listened to Potter talking about tunnels that burrowed through mountains and underground networks. Every so often she found her attention wandering to the toys beside her and was sorely tempted to touch them, not exactly a good example for the pupils. Not a few of the students had the same problem, as she noticed her prefect Sammy looking up at the cars repeatedly.

Slytherin prefect Magda nudged Sammy. "What are you doing? You need to pay attention," she whispered.

Sammy ignored her, engrossed as he was in the picture he was drawing of his Head of House. In a startlingly accurate rendition, complete with subtle shading and magically induced coloring, he'd captured the figure of Aline perched on the desk, legs crossed, leaning back on one hand.

Her dark brown outer robe, rather than the common British type that reached the shoes all around, was of the contemporary American variety: high collared, cut short in front and cinched at the waist while trailing the floor on sides and back, the sleeves full but reaching only the forearms. Her blousy, wide-legged maize slacks matched her outer robe perfectly. Instead of the ponytail Aline was actually wearing, Sammy had sketched her chestnut locks flowing down and curling sensuously around her face, her lips set in a seductive pout; he'd charmed the eyes to follow his every move.

Magda's blue eyes widened in astonishment, then narrowed as she hissed, "You've got to be kidding! You fancy _her_?"

"You like her, too!" Sammy whispered back defensively.

"As Head of House!" Magda growled.

"She's pretty and nice," Sammy retorted.

"And like a hundred years old!"

"Thirty-one. You're just jealous," Sammy whispered, casting another doting gaze up at his teacher.

Conspicuously, Magda didn't deny his allegation. "In case your thick head doesn't recall, she said on the first day that she doesn't date students."

"In a few months I'll graduate and I won't be a student," he responded.

"Samson and Magda, would you like to share your conversation with the class?" asked Harry. He raised his eyebrows and waited; more and more he understood what it felt like to be on the other side of the student/teacher equation!

The two quieted immediately, noticing how all activity seemed to have ceased and all eyes were now focused on them, including their Head of House.

Magda straightened in her chair. "No, Professor."

"No, sir," mumbled Sammy, slipping down in a poor attempt to hide.

"Sammy, is that paper related to this class?" inquired Aline. She'd not seen anyone else taking copious notes, and the guilty expression on both their faces aggravated her. She disliked any of her Slytherins getting into trouble, but prefects were expected to exhibit exemplary behavior. To be disrespectful to Potter while she sat right here was insolent and intolerable!

"Uh…no, ma'am," he answered honestly, shuffling the parchment nervously.

"_Accio_ parchment." Before Sammy could object, Aline had summoned the paper to herself. She looked down at it, expecting to see lines of writing, perhaps notes they'd passed back and forth. As she gaped at it, her jaw dropped a bit and she blinked several times before finding her voice again. "Professor Potter, I'd like to speak to my student outside, if you don't mind."

"No, go ahead." Harry resumed his discourse on subways while Aline and Sammy headed for the door.

Out in the hallway, Aline set up a silencing charm around the two of them and faced her abashed pupil. She handed the tall, sturdy youth his drawing, which he quickly stuffed into his robes, head down, too embarrassed to look at her.

"It's a very nice picture, Sammy, very skillfully done, but it's…inappropriate," Aline said delicately.

"Why? It's not vulgar."

"You know why. It suggests I may have feelings for you other than as my student and charge," she replied gently.

Samson didn't answer right away, he fidgeted from one foot to the other still staring at the floor. "I'm eighteen, I'm not a baby. I won't always be your student."

"That's true, and I'm very flattered. But the thing is, I like my men a bit older than you, and by the time you're thirty you'll think I'm an old hag." Aline smiled ruefully.

Sammy lifted his head, surprised at how nice she was being even when she was telling him to sod off. "I'd never think that."

"Well, I'm sure by that time you'll be snapped up by a lovely girl like Magda," Aline insisted. "Certainly you've noticed she likes you."

"No, she doesn't!" he exclaimed with an odd glint in his eye. He cocked his head and squinted slightly. "Does she?"

"There's one way to find out for sure."

The youth paused, chewing his lip and alternately studying Aline and the wall. Finally he gave a roguish grin and said, "So…there's no way you and me could…"

"No, sorry." She removed the silence charm. "Tell Professor Potter I had to go, will you?"

"Yes, ma'am." His hand rested on the doorknob. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For not laughing at me or being mean or telling the class what I did," he said softly. "You could've just told me to piss off."

"I reserve that kind of brush-off for assholes," Aline said, conscious of her language yet not sorry for it. A smile spread over her lips. "You're a very sweet boy."

Sammy smiled and said impishly, "If we're both still single when I'm thirty, I'll come looking for you."

"You do that." She turned and laughed quietly to herself as she walked off down the corridor, not aware of his admiring eyes on her back.

With a heavy sigh Sammy opened the door to return to class.


	34. New Beginnings

Death Eater No More—Chapter Thirty-Four (New Beginnings)

**January 15, 1999**

Hogwarts had been in session for all of six days—six long, tedious days of more chores than Floyd had ever imagined existed. Not having elf magic to assist him, he found his hands chapped and rough, his back and legs sore from constant action…it would feel marvelous when this punishment was over. Damned if he could comprehend how Luna took it all in stride, even seemed to _enjoy_ their circumstance. But then, Luna was in a world of her own.

He padded into the room he shared with Bayly, approached the bed, and ran smack into the blood ward. He bounced backward and landed on his rear with a high pitched squeal. Bayly jumped up to look over the side of the bed, a worried expression on his face; seeing Floyd sprawled on the floor, he hurried round to grab the elf's arm and hoist him to his feet.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just forgot about those wards." Floyd shook his head and rubbed his backside melodramatically. "They really ought to put some carpet over these stones." He reached into his pillowcase garment and produced a tiny bottle of orange liquid. "Here."

"What's this?" Bayly took the offered vial and held it up to the dim light.

"Dreamless Sleep. I know you've been having nightmares, so I went to the infirmary and told Madame Pomfrey I was having bad dreams. She gave me that."

Bayly studied the vial in his hand, wanting to be annoyed at Floyd's audacity, yet touched at the thoughtfulness. If he'd not been afraid of being questioned at length over why he wanted it, he'd have asked Professor Conn to allow him to brew his own. He set the bottle almost reverently on his night stand. "Thank you. I owe you one."

Floyd shrugged his scrawny shoulders. "It's no big deal." His eyes, round and enormous, scrutinized his friend sharply; any fool could see it truly was a big deal for the other boy.

"Hey, in a day or two you go back to being human, right?" Bayly asked, becoming animated. "No offense, but I've seen you fly…if you wanted, I could give you a few pointers."

Floyd crossed his stick-like arms over his hollow chest. The very action made him remember how much he really, really missed being human! One could hardly be intimidating as a two-foot elf! "How crass—I help you, you insult me."

"I didn't mean to insult you," Bayly apologized, getting on one knee beside the creature. "Honest."

"Ha! Gotcha!" Floyd smirked, chuckling. It was not a pretty sound, more like a cackle crossed with the crinkling of a cellophane wrapper. Oh, how he missed his old body whose voice didn't sound like a bad imitation of fingers on a chalkboard, whose huge head didn't bang every door frame he came upon! "I was joking, Bayly. Loosen up."

An embarrassed grin tugged at the corner of Bayly's mouth. As he gave a light push to the elf's chest he muttered good-naturedly, "Obnoxious twit."

Floyd staggered, his body weight not able to withstand even such a genial shove, but he caught himself before he tripped. Bayly had been on the Quidditch team at Durmstrang, therefore he must be an excellent flyer; conversely, Floyd did feel the teensiest bit insecure about his own ability….if teensy bit meant he hated the sight of a broom and nearly went into panic attacks at the thought of anyone watching him try to navigate on the detestable object.

He heaved a martyr-like sigh. "Oh, if it'll make you feel better, I'll let you show me. Luna said Gloria told her that you can do some awesome tricks—"

"Woah! I'm not teaching you trick flying!" exclaimed Bayly. "From what I've seen, you're lucky to stay on your broom going from one end of the pitch to the other. No offense," he reiterated.

"None taken. Speaking of Luna…."

"I didn't know we were," said Bayly drolly.

Floyd let the remark slide off his back. "Do you know if she's seeing anybody? I haven't heard about it if she is, but I also didn't ask, and—"

"You fancy her," Bayly stated, no hint of judgment or mockery.

"So? She's cute, when she's not an elf—well, even as an elf she does have a certain presence," rambled Floyd. "And she's nice to everybody."

"Yeah, she is nice," Bayly concurred. "As far as I know, she doesn't have a boyfriend. Why don't you ask her to Hogsmeade next trip?"

"Good idea! You and Gloria can come with us." Floyd rubbed his hands together with glee. "Oh, this will be so much fun! We can go for ice cream or butterbeers, or wander around the village…"

Bayly regarded his friend with an amused smirk as Floyd prattled on. It would be enjoyable to have the couple along, though it put a crimp in his plans to corner Gloria and snog shamelessly. On the other hand, at least his girlfriend wouldn't be questioning what his problem was, why he wasn't making an attempt to jump her bones as he usually did. Not that he ever expected to succeed, but it was fun to try…at least it used to be, before he'd been abducted.

A sudden wave of terror swept over him and he caught his breath, a common occurrence now. Then, for the millionth time he remembered that Dolohov was dead, he wouldn't be leaping from an alley or collaring him on the street. He shuddered with disgust at the very thought of the man, and all at once he felt very dirty, just as he experienced every night with the odious dreams.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Due to the blustery January weather, the wedding reception for Gregory Goyle and his new bride Pansy was necessarily held indoors at the Goyle estate. In attendance were a good number of prominent pureblood families, milling through the decked out house and eating and dancing in the rather modest ballroom. While the spread of food would have been deemed heinously inadequate by Malfoy standards—i.e., it was far from extravagant—it was up to par, the Goyle matriarch had presented a respectable soiree. A representative from the _Daily Prophet_ had even been dispatched to cover the event, though no one had surmised that they'd send one of their most prominent columnists.

Blaise thrust his chin in the direction of Rita Skeeter, who at the moment had roped the elder Mrs. Goyle and Gregory's older sister into an interview. "What's _she_ doing here? Everybody knows she only writes sensational stories." He downed half a glass of firewhiskey in one gulp—his third glass if Draco's count was accurate.

"Yeah, and Goyle's wedding hardly qualifies as sensational," Draco agreed. "I'll bet she's up to something." He merely sipped at his own drink; his father would be livid and his mother mortified if he exhibited public drunkenness.

A small voice from Theo's direction said, "Maybe she's not up to anything." All his friends craned their necks his way to hear over the hellaciously loud band. Theo gave a lopsided grin bordering on sheepish. "I guess now is as good a time to tell you as any."

"Tell us what?" demanded Jacinta, recognizing that look he got when he was withholding the truth. She pulled at her hand trying to extricate it from his crushing grip.

"Remember I told you I got a job last week at the _Prophet_? Rita Skeeter is my mentor."

Were it not for the rumble of the crowd and the blaring music, one could have heard a pin drop. Even eyes dulled with a bit too much liquor bugged at him in dismay.

Blaise found his voice first. "Are you mad, Theo? Who'd want to work with her?"

"I need a job!" huffed the young man. "I'm not rich like you and Draco, I was lucky to get such an experienced reporter as my mentor."

"Theo, she's the one who wrote that article about my papa that laid bare his memories for the world to see!" Jacinta exploded. "That really embarrassed him."

Theo pulled her in close, finally letting free her hand throbbing from the grip in which he'd been squeezing it. "I'm sorry, it's nothing against your father, but I need the money. With my dad gone, there's no one…" His eyes pleaded with her to understand.

To his relief, Draco came to his rescue, smirking at his own cleverness as usual. "It's not Theo's fault she's a barracuda, Jacinta. Look at it this way, he'll be considered more qualified for a higher paying position, so when you love birds get married he'll be able to support you."

Jacinta turned deep red and shoved Draco away with one well-placed hand to the chest, the latter laughing at her expression. "We've only been dating a few months, what give you the impression I'm in any wise ready for marriage?"

The corner of Draco's mouth curled from a smirk into the quintessential Malfoy sneer. "I don't know about you, but Theo's chomping at the bit. He can't wait to get under that slinky dress of yours." He and Blaise broke into raucous laughter, spurred on by the chagrin of the furiously blushing couple.

Jacinta didn't possess Snape genes for nothing. Not to be outdone by the bratty boy she'd known all his life, Jacinta pointedly looked across the room where Daphne was talking to Pansy and quipped, "At least Theo can keep a woman, he knows how to treat them right—unlike some blond prats and stuck up gits who shall remain unnamed. When he _does_ get in my clothes, I'm sure it'll be worth the wait."

"Better not let your dad or Snape hear that!" Blaise chortled. "They'd cut his jewels off."

Theo winced and slid his hand down over his privates at the mention of amputating his beloved body parts, while gaping at Jacinta. She'd said _when_, not _if_—that meant she really did care for him! Nonetheless he wasn't a fool, he wouldn't press his luck. If he didn't get a fist to the nose from Jacinta, the least he could expect from Jack Mulciber would be a hexing, and probably along the lines of what Zabini had suggested. He didn't even want to entertain ideas of what Snape might do to him for deflowering his daughter without benefit of wedded bliss.

"Draco, dear," Jacinta went on, smiling evilly. "Isn't that your girlfriend talking to Pansy—oh, silly me! That's your girlfriend's _sister_. It's so hard to keep it straight when you date every girl in the family."

A tinge of pink reached Draco's cheeks as he answered caustically, "I haven't dated Daphne's sister and you know it!" As if hearing him over the din, Daphne turned her head and sent a scathing glare his way.

To make matters worse, Goyle and Pansy were headed toward the clique, he in subdued dress robes, she in a sequined white gown reminiscent of a fairy tale princess, her nearly transparent veil thrown back over her braided hair. Jacinta smiled again and then stuck her tongue out at Draco as she ambled off onto the dance floor with Theo in tow.

With no one left except Blaise, who was chugging another drink, it fell to Draco to greet the couple. Having expressed congratulations on the union earlier, he managed, "This is a lovely party. Are you having fun?"

"You sound like the host instead of a guest," Pansy laughed. "But yeah, I'm having the time of my life. I'm so happy." She clenched her husband's arm and looked over at him; he devoured her with his smoky dark eyes tinged with lust.

"Me, too. This is the best day ever," Gregory said. He was so delighted he didn't even feel the need to rub it in Draco's face that he'd won for good, no one could take Pansy now. He wasn't even angry with him anymore. "Hey Malfoy, how come you dumped Daphne? She's been hangin' around me and Pansy all day."

Put on the spot, Draco struggled for a spot of tact. "We just aren't right for each other. She's, uh…"

"Needy and kind of a bitch?" Goyle offered, which caused Blaise to howl with mirth.

"Gregory! She's my friend," Pansy pouted.

The hulking young man lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "But she is." Enticed by the darling red rosebud lips, he snatched his wife in a bear hug and kissed her passionately, making him all the more anxious for this reception to be over so he could fulfill his husbandly duties.

"Hey, you two, get a room!" Blaise slurred. The firewhiskey he'd been chugging had caught up to him and he was feeling no pain. "Wanna dance, Pansy?"

"Not with you, Zabini, you'll puke on her," Goyle muttered. He'd witnessed his friend inebriated on other occasions, he knew the pattern. "Come on, honey, let's waltz." With that he led his wife onto the floor.

As if on cue, Blaise got a distinctly ill look and bolted away, knocking over a small table and scattering chairs and dishes across the floor. Draco rolled his eyes and sighed. Wedding receptions were clearly no fun when the groom barely tolerated him, his ex-girlfriend was looking for an opportunity to ram a large knife between his shoulder blades, and his only single pal was kneeling in the corner barfing his guts out.

And yet, it could get worse.

"Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune." The oily, insincere voice cooed behind him. Rita Skeeter sidled up beside him, her blond curls bobbing, her glasses set low on her nose, her charmed pen hovering in the air behind her. "How lovely to see you here."

Years of training at how to behave at social functions was the only thing that kept Draco from growling a nasty remark and storming off. "Miss Skeeter. I'm _stunned_ to see you here."

Rita smiled obsequiously; she glanced left and right and leaned in conspiratorially, then addressed him once more. "I do believe I caught sight of your parents at the ceremony, but I can't seem to find them here. I'd hoped for an interview—you know: Lucius Malfoy, hero who helped save the Young boy, and his lovely wife pregnant with another heir."

"They went home. My mother wasn't feeling well." _And no way in hell would my father allow you within ten meters of her!_ "And what do you mean 'another heir'? I'm the heir."

"Well, _of course_ you are," Rita agreed in an insultingly condescending manner that made him want to smack her. "I only meant I can't imagine Lucius Malfoy distributing his wealth disproportionately. Assuming the child is indeed his, naturally. We're all on pins and needles over that one!" She actually giggled.

"How dare you malign my mother!" Draco seethed. His grey eyes had changed to a silver shade as they narrowed dangerously.

Rita tossed her head, arranged her glasses, and smiled conciliatorily. "Surely you've wondered yourself, Draco. With all those Death Eaters in your home, your father in prison…"

"You. Bitch," he ground out, his body trembling with ire. "Who do you think gave the Goyles the idea of making an Unbreakable Vow of fidelity? My parents made that vow when they were wed!"

"Did they?" She seemed truly taken aback, not in a good way, as her pen scribbled furiously. "Well, that's news everyone would like to hear." This was nowhere nearly as juicy as she'd hoped for! Perhaps another angle. "Draco, maybe you could confide in me—"

"It would be blizzarding in hell before I confided the time of day to you!" Draco started to stalk off, then he spun on his heel, whipped out his wand, and pointed it in her direction. Skeeter squealed and ducked. A jet of light flew from the tip of his wand, striking the magic quill which blasted to pieces and showered the cowering woman with its bits. "Don't ever spread lies about my family."

He turned and walked away feeling quite pleased with himself.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Narcissa was seated in one of the overstuffed armchairs in the main sitting room, waiting. While she waited she chatted with Abraxas and Thalia, and occasionally with Lucius, who was busy pondering and shooting her strange, sidelong glances. It wasn't like Narcissa to forego a party where she'd have the opportunity to see loads of old friends. Therefore, he finally concluded, she must be feeling worse than she claimed, but all his nagging had been unable to drag the full extent of it from her.

At last she had conceded that yes, she'd been experiencing a terrible backache all morning, but since he'd been advised not to use magic on her while she was pregnant he had no idea how to alleviate her suffering…apart from the old standby massage, that is. And she'd refused to permit even that, saying he was irritating it, making him feel incompetent and useless. When she'd asked him to contact Snape, at least it was _something_ he could do.

So they waited for Severus, who had graciously offered to go to a Muggle grocery and pick up some of those loathsome Oreo cookies Lucius had been foolish enough to tell Narcissa about years ago. How cookies would soothe an aching back remained a mystery to Lucius, but if that's what his darling wife wanted, she'd have it.

A whooshing sound and a gust of ash accompanied Snape, who stepped out of the fireplace holding a bag of cookies which he handed to the smiling Narcissa. "Anything to help our little Malfoy along," he smirked.

"Severus, you're so sweet." She set the cookies on the tiny table beside her chair and tilted her face up for the standard kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you, my friend. I regret the inconvenience," said Lucius, rising to shake his hand.

"It's no inconvenience, I assure you. I should be thanking you for calling me away from those appalling dunderheads called students who, believe me, do not consider me _sweet_." A low chuckle escaped him; it felt good to be able to be himself around other human beings.

"Stay and visit for a while," Narcissa coaxed. "We'll go into the parlor." As she heaved herself up, holding onto Lucius for support, she made a small moan that she choked back and her face paled to ashen.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" Lucius entreated, eyes wide.

In reply she looked down; the men's gazes followed hers. Streaming down her leg was a rivulet of clear fluid that pooled around her feet. From the portrait on the wall, Abraxas barked, "Don't just stand there like slack-jawed gawkers, do something! Her water broke."

Startled back to reality, Lucius began to gently guide his wife toward the sofa, but she cried out sharply as her knees buckled. He barely caught her in time to lower her to the floor with Severus grasping her from the other side and looking like he'd rather be anywhere else right now. He hadn't counted on this, he was only bringing cookies!

"Lucius, call the doctor," said Severus evenly.

Malfoy produced his wand from the vest pocket of the dress robes he was still wearing from the wedding. He thought of Narcissa's unswerving love and devotion to him, and a patronus burst forth—a massive, writhing dragon with double rows of enormous teeth; it flew once around the room before settling in front of him.

The expression on Severus' face was priceless. "What the hell? I didn't know you could make a patronus."

"You never asked," Lucius said simply, smirking just a bit. It was always interesting to see Snape thrown for a loop. To the dragon he ordered, "Find Dr. Hugh Livingston at St. Mungo's and bring him here. Tell him Narcissa is having the baby."

The dragon screamed off flying low over Snape's head, circled the room again, and flew off.

Lucius knelt down beside Narcissa and wiped her brow. She looked up at him with trembling lips and he bent down to kiss her. "It'll be alright, darling. The doctor is coming."

"It's too early, Lucius. It's a month too early," she squeaked as tears rolled down her temples into her hair. "Aaah, it hurts!"

"For heaven's sake, are both you wizards retarded?" Abraxas scolded. "Get her knickers off and see if she's dilated! And _scourgify_ your hands!"

"Er…maybe you ought to do that, Lucius." Severus automatically cleaned his hands as ordered while biting his lip like a teenager instructed to walk into a pit of alligators. This was _not_ supposed to be happening! The Malfoys had arranged for a team of medical personnel to be here for the birth, not an ex-Death Eater whose most intimate contact with medical procedures had been healing wounds caused in the line of duty! And he was indisputably_ not_ supposed to be viewing his best friend's wife's private area!

"_Do something_!" Narcissa shrieked as a contraction racked her body.

In one lightning motion Severus had removed the panties, rational thought completely left out of the action. What he saw made his pallid face blanch. "Abraxas, I'm not a doctor, but I'm pretty sure I shouldn't be seeing a foot coming out."

"A foot?" Lucius leaned forward anxiously from his position at Narcissa's head. That couldn't be good. He couldn't see it from where he was, he didn't _want_ to see it because that meant it was real…and dangerous. "Father, what do we do?"

"Breech," Abraxas muttered to himself. He should have known. He ran a hand over his face and shook his head. A baby presenting feet first explained the ruptured membranes causing her water to break, and premature babies were rarely in the proper position for birth. "Get her on all fours, it will make the delivery easier on her." _And the baby._ He didn't feel the need to say anything to frighten Narcissa more than she already was.

"Shouldn't we try to turn the baby around?" asked Lucius. He mindlessly stroked Narcissa's cheek and arms; she swiped feebly at him, grouchily admonishing him not to touch her.

"That might have been possible if the infant's foot weren't already out," said Abraxas. "But unless you've devised a way of shoving the baby back up, I think that ship has sailed."

"Lucius, turn her to your right as I turn from this end," Severus instructed, grasping her hips and lifting.

Together, with as much cooperation as Narcissa could give, they rotated the groaning woman around to a kneeling position with her hands planted firmly on the floor, her rump aimed squarely at Severus—a position he was sure he'd hear about later from Lucius.

"Help me, Lucius, it hurts," she cried. "Rub my back."

The man hesitated. She'd told him to leave her alone not five minutes ago. "Sweetheart, I can't touch you and _not_ touch you at the same time."

Her hand shot out so fast he didn't see it till it snatched a clump of his blond mane and dragged him close to her face. "Don't start with me, Malfoy!" she seethed through clenched teeth. "Rub my back or I swear to God I'll kill you!"

She let go; Lucius sprang back up and immediately commenced to massaging her lower back and hips, his face flaming, his normally immaculate hair disheveled. "She doesn't mean it, she's just in pain," he said as much to himself as to Severus.

No one was paying him any mind. Abraxas, who had a clear view of the proceedings, spoke to Snape. "Can you see the other foot?"

Severus, his trousers soaked from kneeling in a puddle of amniotic fluid, brought his hand up to gingerly poke at the area. "No—oh, here comes something. There it is!"

The other miniature foot popped out to join its mate, and Severus grinned in spite of himself.

"Severus, this is important. If the baby's arms are up by its head, you'll need to reach in and _very gently_ manipulate them down. What's happening?" Abraxas held his breath in anticipation—that is, if he'd had breath he would have held it. Arms in the 'up' position could cause the cord to become compressed, cutting off the child's blood supply.

"The bum's coming—Lucius, it's a boy!" he exclaimed. Then his brow furrowed apprehensively; there was no sign of arms. "I don't see them."

"You don't seriously think he needs to reach up—" was all Lucius got out.

Screw what Lucius might think! Severus rolled back his sleeve and carefully plunged his hand into Narcissa's vagina, feeling the sliminess of the baby's tummy under his fingers. Ever so delicately he snaked to one side of the boy's body and moved his hand up to the tiny armpit. One long finger, accustomed to cutting and measuring, wrapped around the limb and tugged slightly. He felt a sliding movement and gave another weak pull, his heart pounding in his throat. The arm slid down alongside the body.

Now wasn't the time to congratulate himself. He cautiously slipped his hand across the boy's chest to repeat the action with the other arm. Satisfied, he withdrew his blood-covered mitt and looked wearily at Abraxas as if to say 'now what'?

Narcissa moaned loudly with another contraction and the baby's chest and arms presented themselves. Mimicking a motion Abraxas made, Severus cupped his hand under the child's buttocks for support.

"Now we wait and see if he can get his head out by himself," Abraxas intoned, glad no one could hear the terror he felt for his grandson. Now that the infant's body had been birthed, the umbilical cord would cease pulsating and cut off the oxygen supply. Yet to pull on the body could cause irreversible damage to the child.

A minute passed in strained silence, with only the rustling of Lucius' fingers on Narcissa's dress as he diligently massaged down the back and around the hips, then began all over again.

Dreading the worst, afraid to wait any longer, Abraxas said, "Severus, gently lift the boy with one hand. With your other hand, insert three fingers into the birth canal, put your middle finger in the baby's mouth and the others on his cheeks." He paused to let Severus get positioned. "We'll try to flex his head toward his chest—"

Another agony-filled cry shattered the room and Narcissa pushed again. In one smooth movement the baby's head slid out. Narcissa collapsed on the floor, her legs shaking uncontrollably.

For the first time since the process had begun, Snape took a deep breath and let it out hard. In his hands, so large against the tiny red infant, he held the life he had helped to create with his potion, the life that he'd feared from the onset of labor until this moment might never come to be. He had the urge to cradle the tot to his chest in a blaze of gratitude. Something wet trailed down from his eye, but he ignored it. Certainly he wouldn't cry over the birth of a kid—and this wasn't even his own kid!

There was something wrong. From across the room Abraxas instantly recognized in the limp, wrinkled infant the fact that everyone seemed to be overlooking: he wasn't breathing. "Tickle his feet or slap them, Severus! Make him cry!"

"You should be good at that," Lucius remarked, not grasping the gravity of the situation.

Severus snuggled the teeny boy to him and dutifully smacked the bottom of his feet; nothing happened. Odd. Most babies cried at the drop of a hat. He tried again with the same result, wondering why this baby was being so blasted obstinate. Then he saw it: the baby wasn't breathing, and the knowledge frightened him more than he cared to admit. By now Lucius and Narcissa had come to understand what was going on, both of them wide-eyed with panic. They had all tried so long and hard to create this child, he couldn't let it die. He couldn't! He roughly slapped the soles of the feet again, to no avail.

"It's not working!" he wailed in a high voice he thought surely was not his own.

"Severus, help him!" Narcissa screamed, held back from advancing on him by a stricken Lucius who said nothing, only his eyes begged the other wizard for a miracle.

All at once, taking a cue from Lucius himself, Severus flicked the baby on the foot as hard as he could. It elicited a weak cry that turned into a steady howl. On the verge of bawling like a baby himself, he handed the child to Narcissa, who was now lying face up, head on Lucius' lap. She took the baby and cuddled him to her bosom, tears streaming down her face.

Severus turned away, mentally exhausted. Pent up tears of anguish and worry, fear and gratitude and love mingled together and forced their way out of him. The sound of the child's mewling and the heartfelt expressions of thanks from the grateful couple were too much and he broke down and wept as he hadn't in many years.

Lucius stroked his son's cheek lovingly as he observed Severus' emotional meltdown. He'd wondered when that would happen, it had been a long time in coming, and to his knowledge the man had kept his emotions in rigid check for years without release. It was about time he vented them. He reached up to loose the leather cord securing his messed hair and carefully tied it around the umbilical cord.

Suddenly the fireplace lit up with another whoosh and a tall, trim man carrying a doctor's bag rushed out. He took quick stock of the scene and halted, flabbergasted. "I—how did—I wasn't at the hospital, I'm sorry. I came as soon as I got the message." In three great strides he was beside Narcissa, kneeling down. "By the way, Lucius, your patronus frightened half the ward. Good thing it can't breathe fire." He was examining the child as he said, "Whom do I credit with the delivery?"

"That would be Severus," said Lucius, indicating his friend. "A foot first delivery, no less. And he wasn't breathing."

"I'm impressed and astounded," admitted the doctor. "Congratulations."

Spent from his outburst, Severus dragged his sleeve across his face and turned around. His hair hanging in limp, sweat-dampened strands, his robes sodden with bodily fluids not his own, he looked over at the man and said dryly, "Dr. Livingston, I presume?"


	35. A Rose By Any Other Name

Death Eater No More—Chapter Thirty-Five (A Rose By Any Other Name)

**January 15, 1999**

Lucius leaned over to kiss his wife for the hundredth time. He half-reclined beside her on their bed, one arm draped around her shoulders, the other hand reverently caressing the rounded cheeks and wrinkled limbs of his second son. He was happy—ecstatic—proud, grateful…and more in love than he'd ever thought possible. With every fiber of his being he had already loved Narcissa, yet now, somehow, he loved her even more. Maybe it was magic. He smiled to himself and let out a contented sigh.

From the foot of the bed, Severus fidgeted uncomfortably. This touching scene belonged to the family, not to him—not to mention he never thought he'd see the day when he lounged on the bed of his best friend! "I think I'd better go and let you have some privacy."

"Nonsense, Severus," returned Narcissa, smiling wryly. "You've seen far too much to pretend I have anything private left."

"Very funny," he retorted, scowling. "Lucius, thank you for the loan of these robes." He stroked the fine silk of the blue tunic shirt and black trousers that Lucius had sent to the guest room with an elf after Severus had showered off the remnants of the birthing.

"Keep them, I don't mind," answered Lucius, distracted by watching the newest Malfoy member whose round grey eyes moved curiously from one to another voice as he rested against his mother's chest. Lucius patted the soft white-blond fuzz, his hand easily cupping the child's head.

Severus stood up, instinctively brushing himself off then scowling again. He wasn't one to bother overly much with appearances. _Must be inherent in these clothes to make me act like a Malfoy_, he groused. He had to admit they felt very, very nice.

"Snape, hold on," Lucius ordered in his I'm-the-big-brother bossy tone. "There's something important we haven't touched on yet. Narcissa and I discussed it and we would like to name the baby for you."

Severus nearly choked, despite the fact he was neither eating nor drinking. "You are, of course, joking. What kind of parents name their child 'Severus'?"

Lucius sneered and rolled his eyes. "Yours?"

"Case in point!" snapped the other man, crossing his arms stubbornly. "It's such an unyielding moniker, I was teased mercilessly for years. I won't allow it."

"You won't _allow_ it?" Lucius echoed, then barked out a laugh. "Are you daft, or have you been sampling too many of your own inventions? You can't prevent—"

"Lucius," Narcissa cautioned, shaking her head and placing her hand on his thigh. She squeezed it like a claw, digging her nails in deep and causing Lucius to pale. Turning to Snape she said, "We wish to honor you, Severus, and we think it's a fine name…for your second godson."

A spark of something akin to joy lit his brooding eyes before he said sulkily, "That's not fair. You know I'm privileged to be his godfather, but can't you think of another name?" He paused while looking back and forth between them and at the infant snuggled in the crook of Narcissa's arm, his head touching Lucius. Despite those Malfoy eyes and hair, the lad definitely favored Narcissa quite a bit. "I propose a compromise. If you wish to honor me, let _me_ name the boy."

That was unexpected. Lucius cocked his head suspiciously and glanced over at Narcissa, whose expression seemed more puzzled than anything else. She pursed her lips and furrowed her brow, lifting her shoulders just a touch.

"What do you think, honey?" she asked.

"I think I'd like to hear what our clever friend has to say before making a determination," responded Malfoy, ever hedging his bets. "Please do go on, Severus."

The potions master bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Alright, here it is. You appear to have a dragon theme in your family: Draco, Lucius' patronus."

"What's your point?" asked Lucius, feeling defensive and not sure why.

"No doubt you are familiar with Ladon, the serpent-like dragon twined round the tree in the Garden of Hesperides to guard the golden apples—"

"It's got a hundred heads!" Lucius burst out. "My son is perfect!"

"It's only mythology, Malfoy," growled Severus. "A three-headed dog is do-able. A hundred heads? Rather unlikely, its neck would never support the weight."

"It's still ugly," Lucius insisted.

"Might I interject?" Narcissa interrupted, elbowing her husband in the side. "Let Severus finish what he was saying."

Severus rewarded her with a glowing smile that seemed blatantly smug to Lucius. "Utilizing the dragon reference, and because I couldn't have delivered the tyke without the aid of your father, I propose you name the baby Ladon Abraxas Malfoy."

All at once the boy screwed his eyes shut, scrunched his face, and began to wail in the breathy, unmistakable cry of a newborn.

"See? He likes it," said Severus drolly. He averted his gaze when Narcissa bared her breast and the infant attacked it as if he were starving.

Lucius, not feeling the compunction of one outside the marriage, lovingly observed his son feeding and his wife crooning to him. He wished it could stay this way forever. He adored everything about the baby, even the beautiful sound of his son's cry, yet experience had taught him that soon enough he'd be wishing for peace and quiet.

He shrugged nonchalantly at Snape's suggestion, though he genuinely liked the idea. However, it wouldn't do to get all excited and enthusiastic, fostering Snape's tremendous ego. "I suppose it will suffice."

"I like it," said Narcissa. She rolled the name slowly over her tongue. "Lay…don. It's a pretty name." She whispered into the child's ear, "Do you like your name, Ladon Abraxas?"  
The only reply was the sound of sucking and slurping.

Lucius kissed Narcissa on top of her head, then bent to plant a tender kiss on Ladon's fuzzy skull. He slid to the edge of the bed and got up. "Unless I miss my guess, your sister will be arriving any minute, love. Come on, Severus, let's go downstairs and have a drink to celebrate my son's birth."

"I don't really drink, Lucius. You know that."

"Not even one to toast your godson?" wheedled the other wizard. "Champagne from France…"

"Well, maybe _one_," replied Severus, trailing after him out the door.

**Three Hours Later**

Severus lay sprawled out on the sofa in the front parlor clutching the neck of a nearly empty champagne bottle. He lifted it to his lips, glugged the remaining liquid, and let it slip from his fingers onto the floor, where it rolled beneath the sofa and clinked softly against another empty bottle. Without provocation he threw his head back on the armrest and started to laugh.

"Wha's so funny?" slurred Lucius, seated in an armchair, his legs splayed, his booted feet propped on the expensive antique coffee table. He took a huge gulp from his large goblet brimming with champagne. Three more empty bottles littered the table and floor beside him.

Severus pointed an unsteady hand at the far wall; his arm moved in an arc round his head. "You're so bloody rich! But all your fancy shmancy stuff is flying around the room."

Lucius looked left and right; everything appeared to be well anchored to him. Then he started to snicker as well. "Yeah, I am bloody rich! And you're prac-tick-ly a pauper. Pauper. Paw—per. It doesn't even sound like a real word." He burst into chortles and swigged down most of the alcohol in his goblet.

Severus snorted at him and tried to sit up, but fell right back down. "I'm not a pauper. I'm the Headmaster at…." He thought intently for a few seconds. "Hogwarts School for something or other."

A sharp woman's voice got their attention, albeit a hazy, blurred attention. "Yes, indeed, the Headmaster at Hogwarts is soused to the gills. What a charming model for his students."

Through bleary eyes Severus tried to focus on the dancing figure that insisted on spinning along with everything else in the room. "Stand still, Andromeda, you're making me queasy."

That set off Lucius in another bout of titters. "I knew I couldn't be the only one."

"Lucius, what do you think you're doing?" scolded Andy. "Narcissa just had your baby a few hours ago and you're here getting drunk."

"I'm ceber…celery…cel—"

"Celebrating," Snape filled in for him.

"Yes. That," said Lucius, turning up his nose.

"You're pissed is what you are," Andromeda contended.

Lucius cocked an eyebrow. "Yes, well….you're a Muggle lover," he retorted in a slur.

"That's lame, Malfoy. I expected so much better from you." She came over and shoved his feet off the coffee table and they crashed loudly to the floor. "You're setting a terrible example for your son."

Severus and Lucius both broke into guffaws, and Lucius grinned, "He's not even a day old. I doubt he'll notice."

"Draco, you moron!" Andromeda growled. "He'll be home any time now from the wedding reception!"

The name had a surprisingly sobering effect on the elder Malfoy. Ever since Draco had come of age he'd harped at the boy against drinking to excess, and even if today was an extremely special case, he didn't like the idea of being cast a hypocrite. He straightened in his chair, set his glass down, and ran his fingers through his hair. "Sisidy!"

The elf popped in beside him. "Yes, Master Malfoy? Does Master needs something for Master's beautiful new baby?" she squeaked, hopping excitedly in place and clapping her hands together.

"Bring me a sobering potion, and one for Master Severus."

"Right away, Master Malfoy!" Sisidy leaned toward him with a look of concern. "But sobering potions makes peoples vomit and feeling bad."

"I know that, but it gets most of the alcohol out of the system." Lucius steeled himself. Nasty business it may be, but he'd endure it this once. "Go."

He glanced over at Severus and smiled wryly. Maybe he'd only need one dose after all; the big, bad potions master was currently passed out on his sofa.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

**January 25, 1999**

"Crank your wrist to the right, all the way in a circle, and _snap_," instructed Bayly, demonstrating as he did so, slowly. He repeated the motion in real time as Hagrid watched attentively.

The giant aimed his wand at the effigy he'd set up a short distance away. He rolled his massive paw in a circle to the right, imitating his young teacher. "Awright now, here goes." He took a deep, concentrating breath; again he pointed the wand, and this time he made the motion quickly as he bellowed, "_Cambio en te mensa!_"

The figure of clothes-covered hay was hit by a yellow jet of light, and a moment later had become a sturdy kitchen table. Hagrid whooped and, had he not been quite so large, would have leaped for joy.

"I did it! I did it!" he sang, gesturing excitedly.

"You sure did," Bayly agreed, smiling broadly along with him and pounding the giant on the back. "Good work! Remember, this only works for objects. It's different spells to transform humans into objects or animals."

"Oh, yeah, gotcha." Hagrid grimaced ruefully down at the boy who looked to be limping slightly. "Sorry about that _stupefy_ I kinder hit yeh with."

Bayly shrugged. It didn't hurt much. "My fault, I should've got out of the way."

"But yeh were _behind_ me!" Hagrid objected. Why did the kid insist on taking blame for everything, even a misdirected spell?

"Hagrid, how come you didn't go to school to learn magic like other magical kids do?"

The enormous man hesitated and pulled nervously at his beard. He assumed everyone knew the story by now, but Bayly being a transfer this year explained his ignorance. "Well, I did, yeh see—right here at Hogwarts as a matter o' fact. Only that Voldemort—he was Tom Riddle then—framed me, got me tossed out."

"That's unfair," said Bayly. His foot kicked at a small stone…life seemed to be terribly unfair, didn't it? "I thought Dumbledore was so smart. Didn't he know you were innocent?"

"Yeah, but nothin' he could do."

"He could've taught you on the sly," the boy stated, a frown creasing his forehead. "You deserved a proper education."

"I ain't had much call fer it," Hagrid answered, heaving his mammoth shoulders. "'Sides, I wouldn't a got to know yeh if he'd a taught me, right?"

"True," admitted Bayly, grinning up at him. The hairy giant looked scary but he'd turned out to be a lovable, gentle soul. "Could I ask you something? Do you think you could get me into the Restricted section of the library?"

"What fer?"

"Just to look up a spell," answered Bayly evasively. "The librarian won't let me in, and if I break in I'll probably get caught and be in trouble."

"Hmm." Hagrid scratched at the face under his beard while pondering. He _was_ a teacher, he could give permission….but should he? It was the restricted section for a reason, after all. Then again, Bayly was a good boy, not prone to do anything evil with any information he gathered. "I reckon there'd be no harm in lettin' yeh in. But I can't say Madame Pince won't blab to Professor Snape, and he might wanna know fer 'imself what yer doin' there."

Bayly's stomach lurched at the mention of Snape. If there was one person in the entire school who would recognize the spell he was after, it would be Snape! Dark Arts were his speciality, were they not? Nonetheless, Bayly had no other recourse, no resources beyond this to aid him in his research. He expressed a half-hearted smile. "Thanks, Hagrid. It means a lot. Come on, time to transfigure the table back."

"Hold on, young feller," said Hagrid. He put a meaty hand on Bayly's shoulder as he bent down to eye level, gazing in an intent though not threatening way. "Yer bein' brave, but I know what it's like ter be different, Bayly, ter feel like ever-body's judgin' yeh. After what happened with yer da—I mean, Dolohov—" He cut off, embarrassed and annoyed with himself.

"It's okay, Hagrid. He is—was—my dad," said Bayly softly.

"He didn' deserve yeh, that's all. I wanted yeh to know that…well, yer welcome here anytime, and I won't be givin' yeh them pity looks or nothin'. Come on down if yeh get a hankerin' fer tea or company or what-not. I said my piece." He stood back up to full height, towering over the Ravenclaw boy.

"Thank you, I'll be sure to take you up on that." Bayly paused. He wanted to ask the giant if he'd ever heard of the hex he needed to find, but was certain the big man had not. Hagrid was kind and mild, he barely knew third year charms let alone Death Eater curses. Besides, it was best left unsaid. "Back to lessons, Hagrid. Remember the wrist action…"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Rodolphus hummed pleasantly to himself as he skipped down the stairs into the cellar of Varden's house. He'd been spending a lot of time down there lately, so much that no one any longer thought it odd for him to disappear for an hour or two at a time. Since he always returned in a good mood, there existed no need to concern themselves with his activities. As such, Rodolphus had this time and space to himself, which suited him perfectly. And today he was extra elated; his brew was complete, it was time to put his plan into action.

The cauldron bubbling away in the corner contained a gloppy substance reminiscent of vomit. A flick of his wand doused the flame, and he approached quickly with two glasses in hand, into which he spooned a portion of the mixture. With a spring in his step he bounded up the stairs holding the cups of nauseating brew. He set them on the counter in the kitchen, carefully pulled a hair wrapped in tissue paper from his pocket, and dropped it into one of the glasses. The potion emanated a copper glow that faded to a tint.

Next he drew his wand and hid it behind his back. "Uncle Varden, would you come in here?"

The unsuspecting man walked into the kitchen. "Yes, Roddy?"

Rodolphus gestured at the glass nearest his uncle. "Drink that."

Varden stepped over, looked into the glass, and wrinkled his nose. "Polyjuice Potion? Why should I?"

The wand slid out from behind Rodolphus' back, aimed right at Varden's chest. "Because if you don't, I'll kill you."

"Wh-what're you doing?" exclaimed the older wizard. "Are you planning to rob a shop or something and make me help you?"

"Sadly, I didn't think of that," said Rodolphus, sneering. "But no, nothing so mundane. Drink the potion."

Knowing his nephew as he did, Varden thought it prudent to do as he was told. Roddy had killed plenty of times before, he likely wouldn't hesitate now, not even against his own flesh and blood. He lifted the noxious concoction to his lips and gulped one swallow that almost came right back up. He hacked and coughed, but held it down.

Momentarily he felt himself changing, growing a bit taller, more toned. Every part of him was shifting in subtle, creepy ways that made his skin crawl. When the transformation was complete, a replica of Udo Nott stood staring at Rodolphus, who had added a hair to his own glass and took a swig. Through sheer force of will he kept his focus on Varden while his body metamorphosed into….Varden.

"What're you playing at?" demanded Varden, his—or rather Nott's—eyes flashing.

"We're going on a trip, Uncle," smiled Rodolphus coldly, the very iciness of his bearing making the older man shudder. With his wand trained on Varden, he moved closer and roughly took hold of the man's arm, then disapparated.

Together they apparated outside Hogsmeade. Varden gazed around in a daze. He'd not been here since he attended Hogwarts. "Why are we here?"

Rodolphus' wand poked painfully into Varden's ribs, making him wince. "I love my brother, he means everything to me. I used to think you felt the same until I overheard a conversation between you and Rabby a month ago. It seems you took advantage of him after he accidentally killed dad, when he was scared and vulnerable."

"I didn't, Roddy, it was consensual—"

"Save it!" barked Rodolphus, shoving the man away. Varden slid in the snow and nearly fell. "There is no way on this Earth you'll convince me Rabby wanted to be part of your perverted incest! To this day it preys on his mind. I despise you for that."

"I never meant to hurt him, he knows that."

Rodolphus ignored him. "Rabastan doesn't have the heart to do it, so it falls to me to give you your recompense, which I do with pleasure. _Avada kedavra_."

Varden, in the body form of Udo Nott, toppled to the ground in the snow. Rodolphus shivered; he wished he'd worn a coat or even outer robes. Once more he dug into his pocket and withdrew a silver ring he'd nicked from Nott's night stand at Varden's house. It was imprinted with the Nott family crest. He bent over and forced it onto Varden's right ring finger. Rising to survey his handiwork, he nodded to himself.

Oops, one more thing. He fished Varden's wand from the man's robes and secured it in his own. Couldn't afford to have some nosy busybody like Ollivander identifying the wand, could he? For good measure he patted down the rest of the clothing and removed a handkerchief and a few coins. There was nothing else. When he finished, he spit on the corpse and disapparated.


	36. All in the Family

Death Eater No More—Chapter Thirty-Six (All in the Family)

**January 25, 1999**

Rodolphus' jaunt to Hogsmeade lasted only as long as it took to get there, confront Varden for his sins against Rabastan and execute justice, and to travel back. He returned to the Lestrange property in high spirits, still in the form of his detestable uncle. The Polyjuice Potion wouldn't wear off for another forty-five minutes, he may as well make good use of the time.

Before he entered the house he transfigured his robes into those worn by the older wizard, then strolled through into the kitchen. On the counter where he'd set the glasses of viscous brew was only an empty spot; his heart skipped a beat. What if Rabastan had seen them and recognized what it was? Would he put it together?

"Nels!" Rodolphus stormed out of the room bellowing for the elf, who literally tripped down the stairs in its hurry to do its master's bidding; Nels skidded to a stop and nearly fell over with a low bow. "Where are the glasses I had set on the counter?"

"Nels washed them, Master Lestrange," cringed Nels, not daring to back away and certainly not enjoying the thought of incurring Varden's displeasure. The wizard rarely struck him, but it was not unknown. "Did master wants the nasty glop?"

"No, I didn't want it. Did anyone else see them?"

"No, Master. Nels cleaning up good as soon as Master making a mess!" explained the creature emphatically, nodding so hard his head threatened to break loose from his stick neck and roll away.

Rodolphus eyed the whimpering beast for signs of deceit, finding none. As far as he knew, Nels was absolutely loyal to Varden. In the back of his mind he felt a niggling of regret—not for killing Varden, the bastard deserved it, but rather for the pitiful elf who'd had no company other than Varden for decades until the Death Eaters had shown up at the door. Although Nels had three men to care for, undoubtedly he'd feel abandoned by his master if adequate provisions were not taken. A depressed elf was an unproductive, brooding elf, not something anyone liked to see.

"Go pack me a small bag for travel, and make it quick. I'm going on a trip," he ordered. Nels scampered out to obey.

While he waited, Rodolphus-Varden clomped down the stairs into the cellar where his telltale cauldron of Polyjuice Potion rested in the corner. A wave of his wand vanished the potentially revealing goo, leaving the pot clean if not shiny. During the course of brewing the potion he'd done away with any extra ingredients that might point to a specific concoction, were one of the mind to be snooping, so there was no point in lingering down here.

Patting himself on the back for a job well done, he came back up the stairs and proceeded to the living room, stationing himself next to the front door. He tapped a foot impatiently as he waited for Nels. If he ran out of time he'd have some serious explaining to do, and he had no intention of letting that happen.

The elf had scarcely popped in beside him with a cloth-sided suitcase stuffed to the brim when Rodolphus commanded him to bring the wizards so he could converse with them. Once more Nels disappeared, to apparate with Rabastan's pantleg clutched in one fist and Nott's pantleg in the other.

Nott shook off the offending appendage with a snarl at the house elf.

Rabastan glowered first at Nels, then at the figure he assumed to be Varden. "What do you think you're doing? You can't force me to come to you like a servant!"

"Shut up," said Rodolphus dispassionately before remembering this was ostensibly his _nephew_, not his little brother. Varden didn't speak to Rabby that way. "I need to talk to all of you. Where's Rodolphus?" He barely suppressed a smirk as he asked.

"Not in the house, Master," chirped Nels.

Rodolphus-Varden waved a dismissive hand. "No matter. You can tell him later. As you may have noticed, I have a traveling bag packed."

Rabastan and Nott glanced down at the floor near Varden's feet, their curiosity aroused.

"I may be gone a long time, I've decided to tour the world. You're all welcome to stay here as long as you like." To the elf he said, "Nels, you are to obey my nephews and Nott, is that understood?"

"Yes, Master," Nels peeped, his grapefruit-sized eyeballs bugging from his misshapen head. For the briefest moment he'd feared he was to be given clothes!

"This is rather sudden, isn't it, _Uncle_?" asked Rabastan. Rodolphus was sure he detected suspicion in the younger man.

"What if he's leaving to notify the aurors we're here?" exclaimed Nott, drawing his wand and aiming it at Rodolphus-Varden.

It took a good deal of will power not to knock Nott on his arse. He instead focused his attention on his brother. "No, it's not sudden. I've been thinking about it since our conversation right before Christmas," he crooned at Rabastan, flashing him a knowing look that made his brother blush. "Given the _climate_ here, I think it might be best for us. Don't you agree?"

Rabastan's scarlet face turned to Nott with a horrified look suggesting he thought Nott may have guessed the awful secret Varden was dancing around. Nott merely stared in boredom at Varden, his wand rock steady; he couldn't care less if the old wizard stayed or went as long as he wasn't sending enemies or giving him the boot, nor did he have any clue of the terror running through his friend's mind.

"Put it down, Nott," said Rabastan softly. "He isn't snitching on us."

Rodolphus-Varden nodded curtly. "Give Rodolphus my regards. Good luck to you all." Picking up his bag and snatching Varden's cloak on his way, he walked out the front door and disapparated before anyone had a chance to reply.

He apparated to a cliff far down the coast, sidled up to the rim, and tossed the satchel over the edge. It fell down tumbling end over end before crashing onto the enormous boulders in the surf below, ripping open and spilling the contents into the frigid waters. The waves snatched at it like grasping claws and dragged it under the froth.

Rodolphus transfigured his clothing back to his own garments then sat at the edge of the cliff to wait for the potion to wear off. He reached into the breast pocket of his robes and took out Varden's wand, which he held between his fingers as he studied it thoughtfully. It would be a shame to destroy a perfectly good wand, especially when one never could tell when another wand would be needed. Probably never, but…better safe than sorry.

With Varden's wand he dug a shallow hollow in the frozen ground and cast anti-moisture, anti-decay, and insect-killing spells on the hole. He dropped the thin branch into the cavity and kicked dirt over it, stomped it down, and cast a final charm to permit him to locate the spot without difficulty. As he loitered he desperately hoped Rabastan didn't somehow find out what he'd done. He really didn't want to face the inevitable recriminations when all he'd done was to do everyone a favor.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Oh, no. It wasn't bad enough Draco's nauseatingly in love parents were permitting Theo to come over for an exclusive interview of the Malfoy family with their newest member—and exclusive pictures besides. No, that wasn't enough. Narcissa had insisted _he_ hold the brat and pretend like he was happy!

What was there to be happy about? He rarely saw his mother anymore, she was always busy feeding the little nuisance, or rocking him, or sleeping from exhaustion herself since she'd decreed that humans were to raise her child, elves were only to assist in emergencies. When he did see his mother, she had the rugrat attached to her like a fungus—unless he was clinging to their father. For all they seemed to notice, Draco had become invisible. Ordinarily that might be a good thing, if he were up to mischief or didn't want to explain his whereabouts, but it got old fast.

And now, to add the cherry on top of his woes, the tiny monster had just pooped his nappy—again! Draco wrinkled his nose and scowled. "Mother, he did it again! He stinks!"

Narcissa started out of her chair. The reporters would be here any minute, but frankly she was too tired to run upstairs to change the baby. She sat back and gestured with her hand. "Take him up and change him, sweetheart."

The young man's scowl deepened to a hateful frown. "I'm not a house elf."

He might have continued griping if Lucius hadn't sent him a smoldering look that could burn skin if it contacted for too long. In a low, eerily calm voice he drawled, "Your mother told you to do something, Draco. I suggest you do it."  
Draco wheeled and stomped out, crashing his feet hard on each step of the staircase even though he was fairly certain they couldn't hear and appreciate his tantrum from the main sitting room. In the crook of his arm he carried his infant brother, scarcely ten days old. He glared down at the child, who flashed a toothless grin up at him.

"It's easy for you to smile, brat. Everyone waits on you hand and foot," growled Draco. So what if he'd received the same treatment as a baby, that was different—he was the heir!

Ladon cooed and thrashed his limbs, then shoved a teensy fist in his mouth to suck noisily on it. Draco carried him into the nursery, laid him on the changing table, and with a flick of his wand the miniature grey robes identical to Lucius' lay in a heap on the floor. Holding his breath he carefully removed the pins from the diaper, then wiped off as much of the mess as he could with it before dropping it into the bucket beside the table.

"Gross little urchin," he muttered. Tempted as he was to use magic to clean the nastiness, he honestly didn't want to harm the boy, and the doctor had warned against using too much magic on babies—the younger they were, the more ill effect could build up, and being premature exacerbated that likelihood.

He conjured a wet rag to wash Ladon's bottom, forgetting for a second the boy's predisposition to—there it went! While Draco held Ladon's feet together in his left hand raising his bum off the table, the child let loose a stream of urine that dripped all over the tot and surrounding territory. Draco let out a groan. They should be downstairs by now. Damn it all to hell, now he'd have to bathe the scheming brat!

He finished up wiping the baby's rear, then wrapped him in a blanket to carry him into the adjoining bathroom, careful not to get any pee on himself. Across the sink basin was the infant bath where he placed Ladon; quickly he ran the water until it was just warm and hurriedly poured cupfuls over the boy in a perfunctory bath that would have to suffice. Ladon laughed deep in his belly with each cup of water drenching over him, making him look like a drowned rat. Draco had just lifted him up bundled in a towel when Lucius showed up at the door with an incredulous expression on his face.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" Lucius barked, making Ladon whimper and start to bawl. In three strides he was across the floor, snatching his baby away from Draco.

"I—he peed—I was just washing him," Draco stammered. Had his father actually thought he'd been trying to hurt Ladon? No, that was too ridiculous to contemplate.

He followed his father into the nursery and watched him expertly pin up a clean nappy and dress the squirming child. Evidently he'd had more practice on Draco as an infant than he cared to admit. Then he lifted Ladon into one arm, cradled to his chest. "Let's go, your mother is waiting," he said curtly.

Try as he might, Draco couldn't dispel the feeling that Lucius was angry with him, and the notion made his own blood boil. He'd done nothing improper, he'd been helping! Traipsing along at his father's heels, it occurred to him (not for the first time) that maybe the man loved Ladon more than he loved Draco, that's why he was so protective of him. Aside from the obvious ache it caused his heart, it made him fear for his future….if that were the case, what if Lucius decided to appoint his second son as heir? Could he do that?

They were descending the stairs when Draco ventured, "I didn't do anything wrong."

"Did I say you did?" returned Lucius without even looking back at him. He headed into the sitting room where Narcissa plucked Ladon from her husband to smooth out his now dripping wet blond down clinging to his skull.

"No, you barely speak two words to me anymore," retorted Draco. In an almost insolent manner he demanded, "I'm still the heir, aren't I? Or have I been replaced?" There, the question was out in the open.

Lucius' grey eyes pierced his older son. "You're co-heir with your brother."

"That's not fair! I was born first!" burst out Draco before he could stop himself.

When Lucius took a step in his direction with his eyes blazing wrath, Draco instinctively backed up and threw an arm up over his face for protection. The man bellowed, "He's your _brother_! I won't have him living in the street!"

The harsh tone had again frightened the infant, who began shrieking, which drowned out any reply Draco may have been foolish enough to make. While jiggling the baby up and down and rocking him to soothe him, Narcissa shot daggers at both of the men. In an icy calm tone that dared anyone to defy her she said, "Lucius, you are upsetting the baby. Draco, your father and I love you and Ladon equally. This is not the time for such ludicrous arguments, we have guests coming."

Still Lucius wouldn't let it go, though he lowered his tone to a seethe. "If my older brother had lived, he would have been the heir. Do you believe your grandfather would have left me destitute?"

"No, sir," murmured Draco, bowing his head. "I didn't mean you shouldn't give him anything, I…" He shrugged, unable to finish what he was saying.

"I can do no less for one son of mine than for the other," answered Lucius, his anger drained away. He motioned Draco over and put an arm around his shoulders. "You will inherit the mansion and land here, Ladon will have his pick of other properties. The money will be evenly distributed."

"Master Malfoy, your guests is here," squeaked the new elf whose name he couldn't remember. Some herb…Chamomile? Sarsaparilla?

"Thank you, Echinacea. Show them in."

The elf tilted her head and gave him an odd look—odd even for an elf. A house elf does not correct its master, that was one of the rules…but her name was Cinchona. How could she be sure he was speaking to her? But there was no other elf in the room, so it must be her. But that wasn't her name…..

"_Now_, Peppermint," Lucius ordered.

The elf scuttled out like her pillowcase was on fire.

"I believe her name is Cinchona, dear," said Narcissa, smirking.

Lucius didn't respond, he was too busy gaping at the woman flouncing through the door. He snapped his jaw closed while glaring fiercely.

Rita Skeeter bounced jauntily into the room beside Theodore Nott, the latter carrying a camera. "Hello, Malfoy family! Thank you _so_ much for allowing us into your grand, gorgeous home."

Lucius turned to Narcissa with a question in his eyes, his lips pinched so tight he couldn't have asked it if he tried. She shrugged and smiled coyly. "Sorry, love. I guess I forgot to tell you who Theo's mentor was. Nonetheless, our beautiful Ladon's picture must be circulated or we'll have people hounding us everywhere we go." She looked down at the baby, tracing lines along his cheeks and chin, cooing lovingly to him, "Isn't that right, precious?"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

How Lucius managed to get through the interview without betraying his loathing of Rita Skeeter was a mystery…or a tribute to exceptional breeding. He played his part of the perfect, charming host to the hilt, every so often squeezing Narcissa's hand and shooting glances at Draco as if to make sure the boy didn't reveal anything he ought not. Draco caught the looks and winced, insulted and chagrined at once. So he'd blabbed to Daphne and Pansy about Jacinta's true father—it wasn't like he planned to do something like that again, he had a brain!

"Mr. Malfoy, could I get a picture of you holding little Ladon?" In a surprising display of strength, Rita reached around with one hand and tugged Theo right out of his seat and over to get the picture. "The adorable tyke looks so very like you," she gushed, tilting her head and crinkling her nose at the baby, who stared at her with wide, round eyes and trembling lips.

"I rather think he favors his mother," drawled Lucius, cuddling the baby to him. It was so difficult to concentrate on being annoyed when he gazed at the cherished child.

Theo took the photo just as Ladon yawned, his father smiling down at him.

"Captivating!" Rita squealed. With a wink she said, "One might think you've been training the boy already."

Draco rolled his eyes and slumped down until his buttocks neared the edge of the sofa and his long legs jutted out like gangly spider legs. "Show-off brat," he muttered under his breath.

"What's that, Draco?" asked Rita. Her new magic quill was dutifully scribbling down every word, complete with embellishments.

"Uh—Brax," he grunted, shoving himself into a more dignified posture, his cheeks pink. Notably he avoided eye contact with his dismayed parents. "It's my nickname for Ladon—you know, from Abraxas."

"Oh, how sweet," chirped Skeeter. "Make sure to get that down," she instructed the quill. "Paying honor to his grandfather like a true Malfoy."

Inwardly Draco groaned. Now he'd either have to face his parents' ire when Skeeter finally hauled her nosy arse out, or stick to his story and start calling the baby 'Brax'. Not a hard choice, really. And grandfather had been called 'Brax' by grandmother; it was a nice nickname, and it sure beat listening to a lecture on respecting his brother who, if one drew inferences from his parents' actions, was an angel incarnate. That decided it: Brax it was….in public, at any rate. In private he was still a vexing little _brat_.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Nearly midnight, a time when the only ones afoot at Hogwarts were ghosts and teachers on the prowl for dangers or wayward students: it was inevitable for certain individuals to meet eventually in the deathly silent corridors. Inevitable, not hoped for.

"Professor Snape!" rang out and echoed down the hallway, followed by the pounding of trainers on the stone floor, accompanied by a bobbing light on the end of a wand.

"Mr. Potter!" hissed the Headmaster when the young man was close enough to throttle. "_Do_ refrain from screaming. If I were intent on trying to raise the dead, I'm sure a potion would be more appropriate."

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. I've just had a hard time tracking you down alone."

"Really?" Snape sulked, disgusted with himself for not fleeing the moment he saw that scarred head bob into view. "What do you want?"

"It's about Hermione. Haven't you noticed she seems to be avoiding you since the new semester began?"

Snape's lips curled into a sneer-laced smile. "Is she? I'll have to remember to thank her, and perhaps even do the dance of joy when I return to my quarters."

Harry ignored the sarcasm. He understood it was Snape's way of coping with relationships; he felt sorry for the poor guy. Now that he was no longer a student he could view things from another perspective, and thus felt a far greater sympathy for the man's position. "Do you know what's got into her?"

"Mr. Potter, if I cared—which, rest assured, I do not—I might exert the minutest effort of straining my brain to determine why Miss Granger does anything that she does. If you're insinuating in your oh-so-subtle-Gryffindor-hammer-to-the-head manner that I have somehow provoked Miss Granger's peculiar behavior, I categorically deny having drugged or hexed the witch." Under his breath Severus added, "Not that I am averse to either one."

"I'm not suggesting you've done anything like that," sputtered Harry. "I thought, you know, maybe you could talk to her."

Severus cocked his head, eyebrows dipping. How on God's green Earth had Potter taken it into that brainless cavity atop his neck that Snape had any interest whatsoever in speaking to Granger for any purpose, let alone to ascertain her state of mind regarding personal issues? "Potter, have you been dipping into Minerva's brandy store? When, to your knowledge, have I made a practice of _counseling_ teachers?" He spat out the word 'counseling' as if it were venom.

"Never," admitted Harry, hanging his head. "But since you mentioned Professor McGonagall…she's the one who said she thought Hermione, er, had a fleeting crush on you and that she's embarrassed about it now."

"How ludicrous!" Severus snapped, breaking into a cold sweat. He'd thought that topic was laid to rest! "If Miss Granger respects my intellect and expertise, it's only natural. She's bright enough to discern it's grotesque to even consider anything more than that between us! Not to mention she's dating that Weasley, is she not?"

"Yeah, she and Ron get on real well."

"There—problem solved! If it's all the same to you, I'd like to finish patrolling the halls and go to bed." The expression on his face promised a swift but painful death to anyone insisting on continuing this thread of discussion.

"Yeah, I'm sure she's over it—the crush I mean," Harry concurred, backing off. "Goodnight, Professor."

Snape grunted something to the effect that it would have been a better night had he not been accosted by a dimwit on a mission, spun on his heel with robes billowing furiously, and stalked away gathering speed as he went. Never know when the idiot Potter might try to chase him down.

That could have gone better. At least Harry gleaned that Snape had no interest in Hermione—as if he'd ever entertained the notion—and sure, once Hermione got over her girlish embarrassment at having liked the Bat of the Dungeons, all would be normal again. Meanwhile he shrugged and started off in the opposite direction, rounded the corner next to the library, and stuck his head inside. At this time of night he'd have been astounded to find students studying, and all did indeed seem quiet…at first glance. Then he heard the sound of a book striking the floor with more force than seemed probable from a simple fall from a table or shelf.

Harry went inside, wand at ready, head swiveling left and right; there didn't appear to be anyone here. He'd given it up for one of the poltergeist's tricks until he heard a sob from the back of the room—the Restricted Section. Moving forward cautiously, he was able to make out a dim light coming from that location.

Slowly, silently he treaded ahead through the open gate and into the second row where a lantern hung magically in the air over a boy sitting on the floor, eyes closed, surrounded by stacks of books that had obviously come from the empty shelf in front of him. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he repeatedly banged his head in a rhythm on the wooden shelf behind him in a frenzy of despair accompanied by the rasping phrase _scearu peine_ over and over. Harry couldn't tell if it was a curse, a charm, or simply Bulgarian.

"Bayly, are you alright?"

The boy started with a yelp of surprise as he automatically scuttled out of reach, wiping an arm across his tearstained face and slipping his wand into his hand. It took a few seconds for his senses to process who had spoken and to assure himself that Professor Potter posed no danger to him. He lowered the wand, his heart beating frantically.

"I'm sorry, I'll clean this up." Immediately he picked up a book and placed it in its spot.

"Bayly, stop." Harry waited for the student to comply. "What's wrong?"

Still facing the shelf, too ashamed to look at Harry, Bayly replied, "Did Hagrid tell you I was here? He gave me permission."

"No one told me." It didn't pass his attention that the lad assiduously avoided answering any questions concerning his well being. With his sneaker Harry nudged at a book, turning it to read the title. _Ancient Dark Spells_. Not exactly a comic book, was it? "What are you looking for?"

"It doesn't matter, it's not here." The last word caught in his throat and he choked back another sob. It was hopeless, he'd never find a way to be free of the damnable curse! Dolohov had probably invented it himself, surely no hope existed now that he was dead!

"If you tell me, I might be able to help," coaxed Harry.

"Nobody can help me," whispered Bayly. He picked up a book and placed it on the shelf beside the other one, then reached for another. "Thank you for your concern," he added stiffly, his jaw so tight it physically hurt.

"When you're finished, get on to bed," said Harry. Half an eternity passed while Harry stood staring helplessly at the emotional wreck in front of him, his heart aching for Bayly. Time would help to heal the wounds inflicted by his father, but meanwhile he suffered terribly. He wondered if professor Snape knew the meaning of that strange phrase, so guttural and ghastly sounding it sent shivers up his spine to think of it. He dared not disturb Snape again tonight; maybe tomorrow would be better.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

**January 26, 1999**

Lucius opened the morning edition of the _Daily Prophet_ with more than a dash of trepidation. Despite his veiled threats delivered through bright smiles, that Skeeter bitch may have written any number of asinine or slanderous things about the family. With any luck the pictures had turned out well.

He'd expected to see an article about the Malfoys; what he saw made his jaw drop for the second time in two days as he blinked back his shock. On the front page was a photo of Udo Nott splayed out in the snow, eyes wide open, accompanied by the headline:

_Elusive Death Eater Found Executed_

The news left him shaken as he skimmed over the article. There was no reference to the Lestranges, and the killing had taken place near Hogsmeade. What was Nott even doing there? His family would be devastated…his son Theo had been the one taking pictures of the Malfoys only yesterday.

He barely comprehended the other headline further down the page:

_Prominent Guinness Family of Ireland Robbed and Murdered, No Suspects_

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Guilt. Rarely had Rodolphus experienced guilt over anyone he killed, but this was different. This affected people he cared about. At first all he'd worried about was keeping Rabby from finding out what he'd done to Varden, especially in light of the newspaper he'd sneaked in from town under cover of a glamour charm. Now it occurred to him how awful this would be for Nott, who lived for the visits from his family.

When he returned to the house to see Nott excited over his impending visit with his wife, that nasty emotion had kicked in, making his stomach churn. He pulled the man outside for a 'walk', and when he was sure Rabastan was out of earshot he said bluntly, "I don't think Fidelia will be coming today, Nott."

"Why not?"

"Because she thinks you're dead." Rodolphus thrust the newspaper into Nott's hands.

The other wizard gaped in disbelief as he read the article thoroughly, including the part detailing the surviving wife Fidelia and his four children. "I—I don't understand. How can this be?"

Rodolphus took him by the shoulder in a brotherly way while he explained how he'd carried out the murder of Varden, the potion, the pretending to be Varden and leaving. All to which Nott howled, "Why did you do that? Why would you murder our benefactor?"

"I did it for _you_, ingrate!" huffed Rodolphus.

"You killed Varden for _me_?"

"Well, no—not that part," Rodolphus amended. "I made him look like you and put your ring on his finger so the authorities would declare you dead. Now you won't be hunted, you can be with your wife and kids."

"Except I still look like me," snarled Nott. "If they saw me, they'd get suspicious. And you stole my ring?"

"I had to, that clinched the identity. And you could grow a beard." Roddy crossed his arms. Really, the ingratitude abounded!

"But why, Rodolphus? I thought you loved your uncle, and Rabastan—"

"Shut up! Just shut up, you don't know anything about it!" barked the other heatedly, panting, rage emanating form every pore. "I did it because of Rabastan, what Varden did to him."

There was a brief pause while Nott considered if he'd witnessed Varden do anything to Rabastan. He had not. Even so, it wasn't wise to push a Lestrange too far when they got in a mood. "Rabastan can take care of himself."

"_Now_, yes," agreed the other, his face set in a grim mockery of a smile. "When Varden molested him he was only a boy about your son's age." With satisfaction he noticed the horror and disgust cross the man's face. "What would you do if you found out somebody molested Theo?"

It was evidently rhetorical, they both knew the answer to that. "Did Rabastan ask you to kill him?"

"No, he doesn't even know I overheard them talking, which is how I discovered what happened. And you can't tell him!" Rodolphus gauged his friend; Nott wouldn't tell, he could keep his mouth shut. "After your funeral, maybe you can move your family up here." Unspoken were the words _Varden can't stop you now_.

All of a sudden it hit Udo like a kick to the stomach and he dropped onto one knee feeling weak and ill. Fidelia thought he was dead, his children thought he was dead! They'd be suffering because of him. "I have to go tell my wife the truth."

Roddy restrained him with a strong grip on his bicep. "No, not yet. Their grief at your funeral has to be genuine," said the wizard quietly. "After that, no one will notice a well-wisher visiting the house and you can explain everything. I know it's hard and it hurts, but you have to wait a few days, for your family's sake. If you ever want a real life again, you have to trust me on this."

Nott resisted the urge to scream and roar at the man, fists flying. He knew he wasn't as smart as a lot of people, that didn't bother him; but it often came as a shock to others how dumb he was _not_. Even with as terrible as he felt right now, he saw that Roddy was right. As painful as it was, this could be the start of a new life for him, for his loved ones. For the sake of that, he would wait. For his family, he would do anything.


	37. Scearu Peine

Death Eater No More—Chapter Thirty-Seven (Scearu Peine)

**January 26, 1999**

If it weren't for the annoying little reality that the Headmaster was obliged to be in attendance, Severus would have taken breakfast in his quarters if only to sidestep the awkwardness of meeting Granger or the irritation of suffering through close proximity to Potter, neither of whom had yet arrived. He dared not raise his hopes that—nope, there came the Boy Wonder trotting into the Great Hall without a speck of decorum and—no, _no_ it could _not_ be after last night—headed straight for Snape!

"Bloody hell! What am I, a magnet for Gryffindor freaks?" he growled to himself. He cast a quick sidelong glance at Minerva, who thankfully appeared not to have heard. She could get so bellicose over the slightest provocation.

"Good morning, Professor," chirped Harry.

Snape's deadpan stare at the youth seemed to go unnoticed, not entirely surprisingly, considering the source. Was Potter always so infuriatingly chipper in the mornings? He didn't recall the wretched boy being that way as a student. And good heavens, did his insufferable lack of common sense preclude dragging a comb through the spikes protruding from his head? He was a _teacher_…of sorts…

Thankfully dispensing with any further niceties, Harry said, "Professor, I need to ask you something. Have you ever heard of _scearu peine_?"

Suddenly Potter's appearance and demeanor faded into oblivion. The world as Snape knew it hadn't ended, which meant the Brat-Who-Lived had not taken up scholarly pursuits as a hobby….and he didn't _seem_ to be possessed by an ancient spirit speaking in the old vernacular—how then could such words be coming from his mouth?

Over the years Severus had pored over many, many texts of spells and derivations of languages. Although this particular phrase didn't ring any bells as a curse he knew, he recognized the meaning of the words quite plainly from older versions of English: _share torture_. Severus' brows dipped into a V and his jaw tightened.

"Where did you hear that, Mr. Potter?"

"Last night I heard Bayly saying it." Harry perched on the edge of the table, one leg drawn up. A single scowl from his old teacher prompted him to swiftly return both feet to the floor and stand up straight. "I believe he was looking for it in the Restricted Section of the library. He had a slew of spell books around him."

This was worrisome. Snape wasn't even familiar with this apparent curse, which must be very old and obscure not to be listed in one of the countless books he'd studied—or perhaps it had been invented only recently? Whatever the case, it was not something a boy Bayly's age had any business playing around with. And who did he plan to use it on?

Why was Potter still here? And why was he still talking? "Bayly was very upset that he couldn't find it. He was acting kind of mental."

"I'll look into it, Potter," said Severus in a distracted voice. "Thank you for telling me."

Harry grinned broadly; it wasn't every day Snape thanked someone, let alone him! "You're welcome." He hopped over to his seat and plopped down.

Severus sighed and rested his face in his hands. Since Bayly had failed to obtain the spell, there was no rush to confront him, and frankly Severus didn't look forward to it. He'd wanted so badly to believe Bayly was doing fine now that Dolohov was gone; searching out gruesome and dangerous curses hardly qualified as 'fine'.

He shook his head back though his hair immediately fell in lank sheets against his face once more. What was he stalling for? Was the position of Headmaster charmed to lull the authority into a false sense of peace? Dumbledore had the tendency to ignore problems he didn't want to face; was Severus following the same path?

_No_! He would _not_ abdicate his responsibilities! Today after classes were finished he'd send for Mr. Young and get to the bottom of this if he had to use threats, intimidation, or Legilimency to do it.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

The _Daily Prophet_ dropped out of Lucius' numb hands onto the breakfast table where it knocked over a glass of orange juice. Barely noticing the way the liquid seeped into the paper, he pushed back his chair and stood up. This was not good, not good at all. He didn't hear his son ask him if he was alright or see Draco clean up the juice with his wand then snatch up the paper to see what was bothering the elder Malfoy.

Nott was dead, killed by the _avada kedavra_. While certainly a few ordinary citizens might be willing to use the killing curse, how many of them had a grudge against Nott? Sure, they all knew he'd been a Death Eater, posters littered every public area, but would they dare risk Azkaban for the brief pleasure of disposing of a man they'd never met?

Probably not, which meant it had to be an auror….or someone Nott knew and didn't consider an enemy, someone he didn't expect to attack him. And the more Lucius thought about it, the more agitated he became. If it were an auror, he'd have notified the Ministry to boast of his work. No one would have suggested an auror doing his job should be punished.

What worried him was this: if it was an associate or friend who'd murdered Nott, was that same person going to become a vigilante against all Death Eaters? Would Lucius or Draco walk into an ambush set by someone they'd never suspect? For himself he wasn't afraid, he'd simply have his wand ready at all times in public places; but Draco wasn't skilled enough yet to defend himself from a formidable foe.

"Draco, come with me," he ordered, already whirling and summoning his cane with a snap of his fingers.

Draco set down the newspaper. Startled at the brusque tone and the sudden appearance of the dreaded cane, he gulped and protested, "What did I do?"

His father looked back, bemused. "What are you on about? Let's go, I need to see Severus." Then he resumed his course toward the front door, plucking his heavy cloak from the rack and swirling it about himself.

Sisidy had padded in behind him wringing her hands. "Oh, Master Malfoy, Sisidy is thousands times sorry for bad breakfast. Please lets Sisidy try again."

"Breakfast is fine," Lucius assured the creature with a pat on her head, accompanied by her sigh of sheer devotion. "I have an urgent meeting. When my wife comes down, tell her I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Yes, Master!" squeaked Sisidy, noticeably brightening. She didn't move away from him, rather let him be the one to go.

Draco and Lucius apparated to the main gate outside Hogwarts and hiked up to Snape's office. Not surprisingly, he wasn't there.

"He's probably in the Great Hall at this time of day," suggested Draco.

"Elf!" boomed Lucius. _Someone_ ought to come to find out what the visitors wanted.

Sure enough, a house elf dressed in red slippers and a dark blue pillowcase-like garment popped in looking rather confused. Its ears flapped in distress. "How you gets in Master Headmaster's office?"

"He gave us the password," said Lucius dryly. "Go fetch him, tell him Lucius needs to speak with him right away."

The elf bowed and disappeared, leaving the two to scrutinize the office. Draco shifted uncomfortably; the last time he'd been at Hogwarts had been for a year of the Carrow nuts running the show and the terrible last battle, none of which held fond memories—except the death of the dark lord, and even _that_ was tainted by the fact that it had been bloody Potter who'd killed the dark wizard. Lucky bastard. When his eyes lit upon Dumbledore's portrait, he hurriedly looked away.

Lucius preferred not to gaze around too much. The office had changed precious little since he'd been a student here….all his trips to the Headmaster's office for this infraction or that, having his father called to meet here, the ignominious suspension for attacking Sirius Black….it all left a bitter taste in his mouth. Then, having been Governor for several years, he'd made plenty of trips to Hogwarts, but those times had ended in a shameful dismissal from the Board because of Dumbledore. He held no love for Hogwarts.

Snape burst through the door with what could only be described as an alarmed, hunted look, his hawk-like eyes sweeping over Draco in relief and immediately searching out Lucius. "What is it, Malfoy? Is the baby alright? Narcissa?"

"They're fine." Lucius took a pace forward and Severus did the same. Lucius laid a hand on his shoulder and leaned in close as if to prevent the portraits from hearing, then said in a very low voice, "I read in the paper this morning that Nott is dead. Have you heard?"

"Yes," said Severus, pinching his mouth tight. "Fidelia came by last night to collect her sons. The lot of them were hysterical, inconsolable."

"Any idea who's responsible?"

Snape shook his head. "Not aurors, they'd have nothing to lose by claiming credit."

"My thoughts precisely." Lucius glanced at Draco, who was reading the spines of the books on the shelf behind the desk. "I'm worried for Draco. If someone is out killing Death Eaters, we all may be targets."

"Indeed," Severus agreed. "Are you going to send him away?"

"No, Narcissa would demand to know why, and I don't want to frighten her." Lucius let out a hard exhalation. "First I'll check with our friends not so far from here, see if they can shed some light on what Nott was doing at Hogsmeade."

_Our friends not so far from here._ Severus noted that even under pressure and in a secure room Lucius had the sense to be vague enough to avoid detection. If any of the portraits got wind of the fact that not only were the Lestrange brothers living in Scotland not a great distance from Hogwarts, but the Headmaster was well aware of it, they'd shit a collective brick.

"Owl me as soon as you find out anything," Severus said. "I have to go, I _am_ a teacher here." With a nod to Lucius he called out, "Goodbye, Draco. I hope to see you soon."

Draco spun around, surprised to find the murmured conversation already over. "Bye, Uncle Severus."

Before Draco could follow the man out, Lucius motioned him over. "You have your wand, I take it?"

"Always," responded the youth.

"Good, we have another stop to make."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Rodolphus, Rabastan! It's Lucius Malfoy!" Lucius and Draco strolled toward the house as the older man called out warning to the occupants. It wasn't wise to sneak up on a Death Eater's lair. They halted at the door, which he rapped sharply on with his cane, the echo resonating in the air.

Rodolphus came to the door out of breath as if he'd run to be the first there. "Lucius, this is a surprise. I thought we'd agreed Draco's training was on hold for a while."

"Hi, Uncle," said Draco, to which Rodolphus grinned and tousled his hair and Draco grimaced as he raked at it to force it back into place.

"Change of plans," said Lucius, smirking. Then his face became solemn. "There was an article in the _Prophet_ this morning about Nott. I came to see if you or your brother—"

He was cut off by Rodolphus pushing the screen door outward right into him, whacking him on the shin. He grabbed Lucius' arm and fairly dragged the stunned wizard clomping backward down the stairs as he chattered in an upbeat tone, "Draco, come on. It's time to train!"

Lucius cranked his neck around to see Rabastan's form in the doorway, coming out onto the porch slinging his cloak around himself. Rodolphus dragged the Malfoy pair away as he hissed, "Don't say a word about Nott to Rabby! I'll explain everything, but he can't know!"

Flabbergasted, the Malfoys merely bobbed their blond heads together. They couldn't have spoken if they wanted to, for their voices froze in their throats at the sight of Udo Nott sauntering down the stairs behind Rabastan, and he looked extremely alive and well.

Taking control in a cool, level headed manner, Rodolphus signaled to his brother. "Rabby, you and Nott start some easy training with Draco—nothing lethal yet! I need to do some catching up with Lucius, then we'll join you."

Draco cast a quizzical look at his father, who tilted his head toward the two Death Eaters as if to say 'go'. A moment later Rodolphus was leading Lucius to a secluded spot among a patch of trees; the snow and twigs cracked beneath their feet. He grinned, though it seemed somewhat strained.

"I suppose you're wondering why Nott isn't dead…"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

A nondescript brown owl arrived at Hogwarts, flew to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and perched on the windowsill pecking furiously. Ordinarily Severus would have hexed the annoying fowl for disturbing his class, but he was anxiously expecting this bird.

"Continue with your practice," he instructed the students. Casually he walked over, flung open the window, and retrieved the note from the creature's leg. Unrolling it, he at once recognized Lucius' perfect script on the ragged scrap of parchment…and the badly encoded message along the left margin.

_Severus,_

_Not a thing to be concerned about, all_

_Is as it should be. Trickery is_

_Alive and well._

_L.M._

His mouth curled into a smile that he immediately squelched. He couldn't have the pupils see him in that state, he had a reputation to uphold.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Advanced Potions class let out and Bayly hurried down the corridor to Professor Conn's locked storage closet, key in hand—Professor Snape had long ago warded the door against students using charms to open it. He felt honored that the teacher had chosen him near the beginning of the year from among all the students to conduct inventory and restock whatever was needed in the classroom. Not to mention he found it fascinating to study at his leisure the wide array of potions, poisons, creams and lotions without anyone looking over his shoulder. It was like his own special shopping corner, sans the actual shopping, of course.

Shelves upon shelves of potions he'd love to try his hand at brewing…the pungent smell of fresh herbs mixed with the musty odor of mushrooms and dried roots…it felt right, it felt natural. Professor Flitwick had told him that Professor Snape used to work in a small potions shop in Diagon Alley when he was Bayly's age; he smiled to imagine himself trying to fill the potion master's shoes. Maybe one day he'd work in a similar shop.

Because he had to study for a test the following day, he didn't dawdle. He selected an armful of supplies he'd noticed were getting low, layered them carefully into a canvas bag, shut and secured the door, and walked purposefully at a brisk pace back to the classroom. Just inside the lab he came to a screeching halt, surprised to see the Slytherin prefect who, as far as he knew, had no interest in this class. His surprise transformed to stunned dismay at the sight of the boy with his arms around Professor Conn's neck and the woman struggling under him.

"Sammy, you're hurting me," said Aline. She had one hand up tugging at her hair.

Filled with a sudden rage, Bayly bolted forward and grabbed the Slytherin by the arm, whirled him around, and clocked the large boy in the jaw. Sammy staggered, his eyes wide with shock and incredulity, but he kept his footing.

"Keep your filthy hands off her!" seethed Bayly.

In reply Sammy righted himself and hissed, "You're f—king daft!" To Aline he apologized, "Sorry, Professor." Then he lunged at Bayly, fists flying.

Before he could make contact, Aline had her wand out, and within seconds the boys flew apart as if someone had tugged puppet strings in opposite directions. Bayly struck a table which broke his momentum and very nearly broke a rib. Sammy slammed into the dungeon wall with a 'thwack' as his head collided. He moaned and pulled back rubbing the knot on his forehead and glaring at Bayly.

"Gentlemen, enough!" Aline considered putting away her wand, observed the angry visages, and decided it would be best to be prepared for another onslaught. Teenaged boys too often didn't know when to quit. "Bayly, what was _that_?"

Huffing and panting in his fury, barely noticing his throbbing ribs, Bayly pointed at Sammy. "He was doing something to you and hurting you."

Aline blinked, puzzled at first, then lifted her chin with a knowing, "Oooh. No, Bayly, it must have looked pretty bad, I'm sorry. I was chopping those newt eyes when Sammy came in to report on a third year in trouble. You know how slippery those eyes are, how they get everywhere. He was plucking an airborne chunk off my head and his cufflink got caught in my hair. We were trying to get it loose."

Sammy sneered and held up his left arm. Indeed, a few strands of the instructor's long, brown hair were dangling from the 'S' shaped cufflink and Aline's ponytail was distinctly marred on one side. In a tone that simmered with suppressed indignation and a hint of jealousy, he growled, "You'd better watch it, Young. Next time the professor won't be there to stop me from crushing you like a grape."

"Next time try keeping your hands to yourself," sniped Bayly. "I could take you any day."

"You wanna go now?" challenged Samson.

"Boys!" Their heads jerked back, their awareness of close at hand authority returning. Her voice startlingly stern, Aline warned, "It was a simple misunderstanding, I will not tolerate fighting. Bayly, I appreciate your willingness to defend a woman, but it ends now. Sammy, you are a prefect, you should set an example. Is that clear?" She stared them down in turn.

"Yes, ma'am," said Bayly, chagrined.

Samson hesitated while her eyes demanded his obedience, then reluctantly he grunted, "Yes, ma'am. But he started it."

"Sammy, please go about your business. Bayly, please put those supplies away." In all honesty, Aline couldn't determine whether to be flattered or piqued. She knew Sammy fancied her and was likely jealous of a 'rival', but surely Bayly had only intervened for fear she'd be hurt, not from any misguided affections. She had no idea Bayly had such a protective streak. It wouldn't do to encourage Sammy's feelings or Bayly's pugnacious behavior.

The prefect meandered out grumbling to himself. Bayly retrieved his sack from the floor where he'd dropped it and made haste to restock the cabinets. He felt like an absolute fool now, but the situation at first glance looked very different from the truth of the matter. For all his bravado, he'd really prefer not to clash with Sammy minus a wand because, like it or not, the kid was huge! Bayly was no slouch in an altercation, he'd had his share of brawls, but the whole thing was just too ludicrous to grapple over.

"I'm finished, Professor," said Bayly. He stashed the canvas bag in the cabinet with the wormwood root. "I'm sorry about what happened."

"That's alright, I can understand how it looked. It's heartening to know I can count on you if I ever _do_ need it. May I have the key?"

She held out her hand palm up. At the same time, Bayly extended his in the same way. Aline reached to scoop the key from his hand, in the process brushing her fingers against the skin of his palm. In the space of a second she experienced a terrible, swift flash lasting for what seemed hours; a numbness coursed through her, freezing her in place. For the first time in her life sparks literally shot from her fingertips.

_She was in a field, unable to move—immobilized, terrified. In front of her, only steps away, stood Dolohov. He was inflicting pain on a nude woman who lay on the ground screaming as each new curse surged through her. The wizard mocked her and laughed at her, turning to Aline to make rude, heinous remarks. Aline felt an overpowering urge to scream as well, yet the __immobulus__ would not permit it. Blood flowed from the woman's nose and from a variety of slashes that covered her. It hurt, oh dear Lord, it hurt so badly! Aline wanted to curl in a sobbing ball from the agony. More torture, searing pain, fear and humiliation. Then the wizard was on top of the nude woman—raping her. Aline felt the urge to vomit and cry and shriek all at once just as the woman was doing, but it was more than that…this was more than watching, this was happening to her, too!_

_When Dolohov had finished with the woman, who was too injured to move from where he'd left her, he spit on her and strode over to a naked man who appeared to be __petrified__ up to this point. Dolohov lifted the hex before commencing to torture him with blows and slashes and burns that went on for ages, and every bit of pain resonated in Aline until she thought she'd lose consciousness. To her ultimate horror, he took out a knife and began to peel the skin off the living man. The Muggle's screams echoed those in Aline's head._

Aline cried out involuntarily and clapped a hand over her mouth as she backed away from Bayly. The myriad of emotions roiling in her brain were too fresh, too hideous to process all at once and she spun fast around, stumbled, and tripped. Her head struck the stone tabletop as she fell, wrenching her neck as she crumpled to the floor.

"Professor?" Bayly squeaked, hastening to kneel beside her but not daring to touch her since he knew naught of healing. What had happened? Why had she looked at him like that…like she was afraid of him…and tried to run away? He noted a cut on her temple along with a swiftly forming bruise, and undoubtedly that wasn't the worst of it. He had to get help. His heart beating a mile a minute, he darted for the exit.

"What'd you do to her?" shouted Sammy from the doorway. He barged in, giving Bayly a shove so hard it sent him reeling and crashing to the floor. "_What'd you do_?"

"She fell, moron!" Bayly got up off his rump where he'd landed.

There was no time to retaliate, he had to get help. Professor Conn was hurt and it was somehow his fault! _Madame Pomfrey—no, the Headmaster is closer_! Running for all he was worth, he slipped past Samson, evading a punch aimed at his skull, and sprinted down the hallways dodging students or pushing his way through if necessary, the awful haunted look the teacher had given him playing over and over in his mind. He was out of breath as much from fear as exertion when he finally arrived at Snape's classroom. To his overwhelming relief, the wizard was still there, looking dourly at an essay, quill filled with red ink poised above. Saucer-eyed he halted in the doorway to catch his breath.

Severus lifted his head, realizing at once that something was wrong. Pupils simply did not run down corridors to burst into his classroom for the pleasure of his company. He rose quickly and rounded the desk. "Mr. Young, what is it?"

"P-Professor Conn," Bayly panted. "She fell, hit her head in the lab."

That was all he needed to hear. Severus stormed out the door with the youth traveling in the wake of his billowing robes. Bayly thought it astonishing how fast the man went, seeing as he was twice the boy's age and not particularly athletic…not that he'd heard, at any rate. If he weren't so frantic he'd have thought it funny how, unlike on his trip to fetch Snape, students flattened themselves against the walls when they saw the Headmaster approaching like a dark cloud, clearing the way very effectively.

Snape wasted not a moment. He was waving his wand in a diagnostic spell even before he'd crouched down beside the injured teacher, and the look on his face heartened Bayly—he knew what was wrong and could fix it! A few more chanted spells later, Aline's eyes fluttered open, only to take on the horror again. The gash on her temple had healed, leaving only a smear of blood to indicate anything at all had occurred.

"_Scearu peine_," she croaked at Severus. "He used _scearu peine_."

The words hit Severus like a slap in the face. "Who? Not _Bayly_?" A fierce snarl curled his lip. If the boy had so much as thought to use it, he'd—

"No! Dolohov!" Aline struggled to sit up, assisted by Snape's arm behind her back. She propped on her hands for support.

"Be careful, you had a concussion," he advised before delving into what fascinated him. Off to the side he noticed the young man wilting before his eyes, his legs trembling, his entire body and mind entranced by something Snape couldn't see. He forced his mind back. "You had a vision?"

Aline nodded. She wanted to vomit. "Bayly's father used that curse on him, then he tortured two Muggles horribly." All at once she leaned to the side and barfed on the floor, splashing Snape's robes in flecks.

Severus shuffled a bit back and cleaned up the mess with a quick _evanesco_. To his credit he resisted retching or castigating the witch, and waited patiently while she got hold of herself again. It wasn't uncommon to throw up after a concussion, and he'd had worse than vomit on him. When she started to bawl hysterically, he became concerned.

Sammy came barreling into the room with Madame Pomfrey, both wearing apprehensive expressions. He took one look at his Head of House and his features hardened; he jerked Bayly's arms roughly behind his back as he accused, "Professor, he did it! He pushed her down!"

"No, I didn't," said the other softly, not putting up any opposition.

Poppy scurried over to Aline's side and the women clung to each other as Aline sobbed helplessly. Severus' head cranked over slowly to the teens. "Did you see Mr. Young push her?"

"Well….no, sir. But I heard her scream, and when I came running she was on the floor and _he_ was over her," declared Sammy.

"Let him go, Samson." Severus stood up. Black eyes that revealed nothing, not a scrap of emotion, bored into the boy.

Sammy let go and gave Bayly another shove, though upon reflection he thought maybe he ought not to have done it. The Headmaster had that creepy, scary look that made firsties wet their pants and everyone else tread very carefully around him. He bit his lip and ducked his head to shield himself from the stare. "Is she alright?"

"She will be," said Severus. At the moment he genuinely didn't know what in blazes was wrong with her. Physically she'd been healed, she should be fine. Poppy had just checked her over and found nothing wrong. Instead, she was crying like a heartbroken child, presumably over what she'd seen in this elusive vision. "Go to your dormitory or wherever it is you ought to be."

Sammy rightly assumed that arguing would be an erroneous course of action. On a good day, you didn't argue with Snape. This was not a good day. He backed up to the door, took one last look at his object of affection, and wheeled on his heel. Snape closed the door behind him with a wandless crook of his finger.

To Bayly, who stood forlornly observing the scene around him, Snape ordered, "Get over here where I can see you and sit down." If the boy _had_ done something to Miss Conn, it was best to keep him in sight.

On wooden legs the lad stumped across the floor to collapse onto a stool, his body sagging dejectedly. There was no point in denying he'd harmed the teacher, any idiot could see he had. Even if he hadn't actually touched her, it was the vision she'd had of him, of his father, that had caused it. She'd said _scearu peine_, she knew Dolohov had used it on him…and from the looks of it, she'd seen exactly what Dolohov did to the Muggles. He flushed with shame. He didn't blame her in the least for her reaction, his own had been the same when the grisly, awful crimes had been perpetrated.

"Mr. Young, did you in any way cause Professor Conn to become injured?" asked Snape. He walked over to stand in front of the youth, crossed his arms ominously, and waited.

"Not on purpose," whispered Bayly, staring unseeing at the floor. "She saw things from my mind and then she fell." He swallowed back a lump in his throat.

"Show me what she saw."

To his own consternation as well as Snape's, Bayly shook his head resolutely. "No, sir."

Severus snatched ahold of his chin in a lightning quick move and wrenched his face up. "Show me!" he barked.

"No!" Bayly clamped his eyes shut. He wasn't stupid, Snape couldn't use Legilimency without looking in his eyes, and no one should have to see the things he'd witnessed, the things tormenting his mind and now making Professor Conn cry. Let the man beat him all he wanted, he wouldn't let anyone else see.

"Headmaster!" It was Poppy. She'd helped Aline to her feet and led her to a long bench along the back wall. Severus turned his head at her call.

Here Aline chimed in. Her eyes were red rimmed and slightly swollen, her face still wet with tears. "Leave him be, please. I'll show you."

Bayly's eyes shot open at Aline's statement. He'd been prepared to shout for her not to do it, but the long finger jabbing into his face changed his mind. "Don't you move a muscle," Severus rasped. He strode across the floor, got down on one knee in front of her, which Bayly thought looked like he was about to propose, and asked, "Are you strong enough?"

"Yes," she said simply. It had been an incredibly intense experience, the worst ever because in this case the emotions felt like her own rather than another's, but she'd get over it. Fortunately for her, the emotions of visions subsided rather quickly, though they took weeks sometimes to dissipate entirely. This one she feared might take longer. Poor Bayly had lived with this for two months already with no lessening.

When the Legilimens touch entered her mind, Severus expected to have to search, but the memory in the forefront of her mind struggling to escape threw itself at him like no memory ever had. It consisted of a confused jumble that made no real sense….if it was a vision of what Bayly had seen, why was he seeing it from _her_ point of view? He was seeing it through _her_ eyes, the inhumane acts against the Muggles they'd found in the pit behind the farmhouse. But it was Bayly's memory, how could this be?

Severus yanked his eyes away, staggered by the depth of cruelty—not to Muggles, he expected as much from Dolohov—but to his own son. Blinking back his own horror, Severus remarked, "Miss Conn, you mentioned _scearu peine_. I assume you know what it is and what it does. Might you enlighten me?"

Aline nodded again. "I suppose you're familiar with _peine forte et dure_?"

Severus inclined his head in agreement. "An ancient Roman punishment—curse, if you will—designed for painful humiliation before execution."

"Yes. Salem authorities long ago took it upon themselves to utilize that punishment. People being what they are, one of the Council twisted that curse into a new invention called _scearu peine_." She paused long enough for him to voice his thoughts.

"Share the torture," he said.

Her head bobbed listlessly again. "It's particularly insidious because it makes the victim feel as if he is enduring whatever he's watching, without leaving any outward marks."

Left unsaid yet understood by everyone in the room was that Dolohov had cursed Bayly and made the boy watch him torture the Muggles. In the process, everything the youth had seen had been—in Bayly's mind—done to _him_ without leaving a scratch of it on his body. No doubt the boy had been tortured himself, as evidenced by the multitude of wounds, but in his mind he'd suffered more than anyone had guessed: he'd been both raped and skinned alive.

"However," Aline went on, "Even though the victim isn't physically harmed, he suffers all the same emotional and mental damage as the one who is being tortured."

"Watching torture is easy, that's what he said," intoned Bayly in a flat voice, his eyes holding a dead look. "Anyone can watch, he said. To become strong I had to experience it from the other side."

The adults shuddered in unison.

"Why didn't you tell anyone what he'd done?" asked Severus so softly it would have gone unnoticed had the room not been deathly silent.

Bayly gave a languid shrug, still examining the floor rather than look at anyone here. "I didn't want people to see how pathetic I am. I mean, that horrible stuff he did to them…I _know_ in my head that it didn't happen to me, but I _feel_ like it did. What could I say? I was raped? But I wasn't! He didn't peel the skin off my body! You'd think I was pitiful and weak and stupid for not being able to distinguish the difference. It plays over and over in my mind and I don't know how to change that, I don't know how to stop it. I just feel so ashamed, like I should have been able to stop him, or to do something!" Tears he'd been trying to stave off washed down his cheeks.

When Poppy made to go to him, Severus put out an arm to block her. They needed his cooperation, they needed the whole story; if Poppy went to him he'd break down completely.

"Can't you undo it?" asked Poppy. Her eyes glistened as she gazed at Bayly.

"No," said Aline quietly. She allowed a wry smile. "There's something unique about this spell, a strange quirk the originator didn't intend. There is a curse inherent upon the curse. If a person uses _scearu peine_, neither he nor his descendants will ever be able to use it again. That's the good part. Regrettably, they also can't use the countercurse because it contains the curse in it. Since one of my ancestors was idiotic enough to use this curse, I can't do anything."

She looked over at Severus, who'd cleared his throat. "There is no hope? Is this what you're saying?"

"No, not at all. I can't use it…but one versed in the Dark Arts can." Aline smiled over at him and he scowled.

"Miss Conn, how can I reverse it if I don't know how?" demanded Severus, irritation grinding in his voice. He felt a tinge of embarrassment at his lack of knowledge of a dark spell, knowledge others possessed.

"I can show you how," said Aline, removing her wand from her pocket. "Do exactly as I do."


	38. Celebration and Mourning

Death Eater No More—Chapter Thirty-Eight (Celebration and Mourning)

As Poppy watched Aline and Severus repeatedly practicing the counterspell to release Bayly from that appalling curse he'd been subjected to, she understood why Aline had indicated that a person skilled in Dark Arts would be capable of performing the spell. The jerky, precise wand motions accompanying the chant were wholly unfamiliar to one whose only experience with magic lay on the Light side. This was not the time to be learning new techniques, not when a boy's emotional well-being hung in the balance.

"Are you ready?" asked Aline. She had to admit—to herself, at any rate—that she was impressed with the man's aptitude. She'd only had to show him the spell once and he'd been able to duplicate the wand gestures perfectly. Now as long as he didn't stumble over the words (a combination of Old English and Middle English, like the curse itself), everything should be fine.

Severus lifted his wand solemnly and gave a deliberate nod. He turned to Bayly, who'd sat watching the proceedings with mixed awe and dread. To the trembling teen he said quietly, "I will not hurt you, Mr. Young. Do you trust me?"

"Yes, sir, I'm just afraid…" He gulped. "What if it doesn't work—or makes it worse?"

"That won't happen, Bayly," Aline assured him, coming over to press a cool hand on his shoulder. "Professor Snape is an expert in the field of Dark Arts. If he thought it wouldn't work or might harm you, he wouldn't do it. And if _I_ thought it might hurt you, I wouldn't have shown him what to do."

Bayly took a deep breath and nodded. "What do I have to do?"

"Nothing. Sit there and don't move….and try not to blink at the end," said Aline. She shuffled backward a few paces out of the way and offered a quick, silent prayer to heaven for success.

Once more Severus took up position in front of the youth, raised his wand, and tapped Bayly on the head. Immediately the wand jerked to the right and proceeded to the left in an arc around the boy's head and down along his face, continuing and growing painstakingly slower as it reached the full revolution at the point of origin.

"_Onchayne gemynd bindand to other_," intoned Snape.

He lay his hand flat, palm up, three fingers loosely curled around the wand while the straight index finger supported the length of the wood; an abrupt thrust upward with a sharp snap of the wrist made Bayly flinch, but he didn't move from his spot. In an instant the hand reversed toward the floor and Snape slashed hard down the length of the boy's body.

"_Scearu peine na mara._"

A simple counterclockwise revolution of the wand in front of the face.

_"Restoren pes._"

Holding the wand like a quill, Severus brought it up to within two millimeters of Bayly's open eye, then he jabbed it forward with the minutest of motions as he said:

"_Beon freo._"

A thin, delicate golden thread of light snaked out to shoot into the young man's pupil. Trying hard to obey Professor Conn's admonition not to blink, he gripped the stool in both hands and stared straight ahead, scarcely daring to breathe.

Snape dropped his arm and stumbled back, heaving a sigh of relief and…exhaustion? Miss Conn hadn't warned him how draining this spell was, yet he felt set to topple over. He lurched around to latch onto the edge of the table, acting as nonchalant as a person on the verge of fainting was capable of acting.

It was done. Aline approached Bayly, smiling on the outside and fighting a swarm of butterflies on the inside. "Well? How do you feel?"

For a moment Bayly didn't say anything, he was sorting through his mind for the fear and shame and horror that kept him awake at night and marred every second of his days. He couldn't find it. Raising his face to the teacher he grinned ecstatically. "I feel…different. It's gone!"

Not thinking about propriety or authority or anything but sheer joy, Bayly leaped off the stool and crushed Aline in a bear hug, lifting her right off the ground and swinging her in a circle. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

"You're very welcome," she answered, patting his back affectionately. Inside she rejoiced heartily, overcome with gratitude to the point of tears that it had worked, Bayly was finally spared the pain that had tormented him. "It has been my privilege to help. You can put me down now."

Bayly set her gently on her feet and turned to Snape, poised to fling his arms around the wizard, whose strength was slowly returning. Severus hastily threw up a hand at chest level to repel the attack as he stated gruffly, "I do not hug my students."

"I want to thank you, Professor. I owe you not only my life, but my sanity," insisted Bayly, inching closer in spite of Snape's caveat. One arm reached out toward the man like a zombie intent on having its brain.

"Mr. Young, if you persist in this folly I will be tempted to—to give you detention for the rest of the year," Severus growled ineffectually, growing panicky. Egads, he couldn't even manage a respectable, credible threat with this dizzying feebleness, and he certainly wasn't stable enough yet to flee or resist!

"I'm willing to risk that, sir," smiled Bayly, obviously not intimidated, his eyes gleaming with euphoria. He'd welcome the chance to spend every day after class with the Potions master! "I need to show my gratitude and appreciation for all you've done for me."

"And mauling me would somehow accomplish that?" Employing a superb effort, Severus swung himself around onto the stool next to Bayly's vacated seat. "A handshake will do, I think." He thrust out a hand, which Bayly pumped so vigorously Snape temporarily lost sensation in the limb.

Observing the scene with amusement, Aline commented, "Perhaps I should have mentioned the fleeting weakness this spell causes. Sorry about that."

"You think?" Severus sneered back.

"What weakness?" demanded Madame Pomfrey, marching over to examine the Headmaster, who brushed away her advances with an irritated swipe.

"Are you alright, Professor?" asked Bayly, genuinely concerned. He couldn't bear to think the wizard was experiencing distress on account of him.

"I'm fine," he snapped. If there was one thing he couldn't stand it was people making an unnecessary fuss over him. "The question is, are _you_ alright? Do you remember what occurred at the farmhouse?"

Bayly's excitement dimmed perceptibly and his voice took on a somber tone. He hated talking about these things, the terrible events that had happened. He turned his head to stare at the wall, which wouldn't judge him or make him feel small. "I remember. I can still see dad—_him_—torturing those Muggles, only now it feels….normal. I mean, as normal as watching something horrible like that can feel. It sickens me, but it doesn't feel like he did it to _me_ anymore—like all those emotions just _disappeared_. It's weird, but it almost seems like a faraway, distant memory."

"I'm pleased to hear that. What of the other things—the beatings and spells he used on you aside from the curse?" inquired Snape.

Bayly shrugged one shoulder and looked down blushing as he habitually did when confronted with embarrassing or painful memories. "That's still pretty vivid, I didn't expect the countercurse would change that. He wasn't exactly the best father…"

"He was hideously cruel," Poppy interjected. "Any man who would use the Cruciatus on his son, and do the things he did—"

"We're all agreed on that, Poppy," said Severus. He doubted the kid needed a rundown of the tortures he'd endured. "We only wish we could alter or fog those memories as well."

"I don't," said Bayly softly. He moved over to flop onto the stool he'd left earlier, carefully avoiding the 'why' looks he was sure were aimed his way from three directions. Of course he lamented the fact that his father had been sadistic and didn't have the vaguest concept of love; at the same time, he realized that forty years of Voldemort's tutelage could only produce a twisted mind. He directed the next question to all the adults present. "If your dad had been brutal to you, wouldn't you want to remember it so you wouldn't ever even _think_ to treat your kids like that?"

Severus shifted uncomfortably, for a split second fearing the boy had seen into his past. He honestly could not say he enjoyed recalling Tobias' frequent slaps and whippings…but it did help him to restrain his own urges to do bodily harm to students. "I suppose I would."

Poppy glanced knowingly at Severus. His first year at Hogwarts she'd treated him for welts and bruises on his back that he'd tried to explain away as a result of 'falling down'. Having seen much of the same on many pupils over the years, she hadn't been fooled, but she _had_ seen fit to teach the bright, adept young Severus healing spells.

"I'm really, really grateful for taking away those ghastly emotions and all, but I don't want to forget any of what he did," said Bayly plainly. He looked curiously at Aline. "There's something I don't understand. The countercurse makes it so I don't share those terrible experiences, right? But how did it take away all the shame and disgust and—all those things I've suffered since the curse? They weren't part of it at the time…"

Aline looked pensive for a minute before speaking. "As far as I can guess, when the countercurse reversed the curse, it did so at its inception. If you never shared the torture, you wouldn't develop the negative emotions on account of it, so they were wiped away—although I imagine you still carry some damage from _watching_ what you saw."

"That makes sense," acknowledged Young, relaxing inside. He'd been afraid to hope that the nightmares of torture and rape, the relentless fear, and the self-loathing were gone for good, but it appeared that they were. He was truly free! He was so happy he'd have kissed the woman if he thought for a second she'd let him. "Are we finished then?"

"Yes, we're finished. Unless the Headmaster has something for you to do, you're free to return to your dormitory," she answered.

Snape shook his head as if to signify he had no chores or tasks. Bayly flashed another beaming smile, bowed to the adults, and headed for the exit. Before he got there he was halted by Severus' voice.

"In the future, Mr. Young, I recommend coming to your mother or one of your teachers if you have a problem. We are here to help you."

"Yes, sir, I understand that now. Thank you both again so very much. I'm going to owl mum, she'll be so glad!" Once more he bowed, then practically skipped out the door.

"I'll be going, too," said Poppy, following the lad. "Severus, if you feel weak later, come to me. Do you hear me?"

Severus grunted a noncommittal one syllable, and Pomfrey left the room.

Left nearly alone, Aline could restrain herself no longer; she clapped her hands rapidly together as she hopped up and down grinning like a Cheshire cat. "It worked! It worked!"

"Are you only _now_ telling me you had doubts?" asked Severus dryly.

The Potions mistress stopped celebrating and placed her hands on her hips, pouting just a bit. "They weren't _doubts_, per se….it's just that there's no record of anyone alive having ever seen that curse reversed, I wasn't exactly sure how much to expect. And it exceeded my expectations!" She gave another little leap of joy, to Snape's eye rolling.

"Speaking of which, how did you come to know this spell—"

"When you didn't?" Aline interrupted him with a smirk.

The glower Severus sent her way had no effect whatsoever, which made him scowl all the more. "I believe I asked the question I intended to ask."

It was Aline's turn to roll her eyes. Not finding a point in riling the wizard, who evidently had no sense of humor, she stepped up to plop next to him on the stool and said, "Like yourself, I enjoy studying the Dark Arts. In Salem there's no stigma attached to it as there seems to be here."

"Tell me about it," Snape remarked, a little astonished. He hadn't anticipated finding any common ground with this eccentric witch. "For years all I heard was that only 'evil wizards' studied such things. Salem appears to be a refreshingly enlightened place."

"In some ways," she replied, shrugging. "They certainly can't be trusted not to use that abominable curse, which is why it's been banned for over two centuries. Very few people even know of it anymore—once the inventor and his cronies realized they couldn't produce the countercurse, not many were willing to pass it on, and it wasn't looked favorably upon for obvious reasons."

"So how did you come to know it?" repeated Severus like a bulldog unable to let go of an intruder's leg.

"There are archives of our history, within which is a small section of very old scrolls; one of them describes _scearu peine_ and the countercurse. Only select scholars have access to these scrolls, they're guarded and warded. With your credentials, I'll bet you could get permission to study there." Aline resisted the desire to laugh at the way he leaned forward eagerly at the prospect of new material to devour. His eyes held a spark that gave life to those otherwise fathomless orbs.

"I'll definitely look into it," he murmured, settling back onto his stool. "It still begs the question of how Dolohov got hold of the curse."

"Hmm, yes it does," agreed Aline. "Before Voldemort rose to power, the scrolls weren't so heavily guarded. I wonder if he somehow got in."

"Certainly within the realm of possibility. If Dolohov had known that curse for any length of time, I'm sure he'd have used it before this, so he was likely given the spell by the dark lord as a reward for something shortly before Voldemort's death."

For a minute they sat in contemplative silence, then Aline perked up. It was so highly unusual she was surprised she hadn't noticed it earlier. "Do you realize something? We're having a civil, normal conversation!"

"It's been known to occur," drawled Severus. "I, myself, have had many of them."

"But not with me! We haven't sniped at each other or—at least on my part—thought up ways to wring the other person's neck." She gave a sheepish grin at the admission.

Severus swiveled his head in her direction, his face showing traces of shock he didn't try to hide. "So we are. There really is a first time for everything." Then, having been made painfully aware of their uncommon ease with one another, Snape experienced a sudden, pressing agitation at having dropped his self-protecting shields. He mentally propped them back in place, slid off the stool to find his footing steady enough, and said, "It's time I return to my duties. Thank you, Miss Conn, for alleviating Bayly's misery."

"It's my great pleasure," she returned, mystified at his reaction. She found herself studying him intently in a way that she could see made him shrink further inside himself, yet she couldn't stop herself from doing it. "And thank _you_ for healing my concussion, Headmaster."

"Quite alright, Miss Conn." Severus nodded curtly and scurried from the room like his robes were on fire, making him feel like an awkward teenage boy, and making him angry for feeling that way.

He stormed down the nearly empty corridors back to his classroom where he flopped like a rag doll into his chair and ran a hand through his greasy hair to shove it off his face. Picking up his quill, he dipped it into the red liquid in preparation for what was destined to be a bloodbath of ink on the unlucky student's parchment.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Lucius paced slowly back and forth across his bedroom with his tiny son perched over his shoulder. The tot's fluffy blond hair and grey eyes peeked over inquisitively, his miniature fists clutching his father's black Italian wool robes as he snuffled along biting into the butter soft fabric.

"What a good little boy you are," crooned Lucius, patting and rubbing the infant's back. All at once Ladon spit up a nasty patch of white onto his shoulder. Lucius rolled his eyes with a sigh as he hoisted the baby in front of him, his thumbs under the child's armpits and large hands cradling Ladon's head, to gaze with mock sternness at the imp. "You did that to make your father look bad, didn't you?"

In response Ladon belched loudly in his face, then proceeded directly to projectile vomiting that drenched Lucius' expensive garments in one hefty heave, not sparing the man's face. Gagging and retching, Lucius hauled the boy into the bathroom where Narcissa was getting ready for Udo Nott's funeral.

"Honey, what happened—oh, no!" She wrinkled her nose and held her breath as she plucked the now-crying infant away from his father. "Ladon, sweetie, is my precious baby alright?" she cooed softly, rocking her son while Lucius shot her a cross glare, which she ignored.

"Don't mind me, Narcissa, I'm only _puked on_." Already he was stripping off the offensive, smelly clothes, trying desperately not to vomit himself. As he climbed into the shower he griped, "He's definitely your son."

"Don't pick on my baby," she ordered, pulling aside the curtain so he could hear. Her eyes lingered over his nude body, so pale and taut, so beautiful still.

"See something you like?" leered the wizard. He let the water douse him, rinsing away most of Ladon's little gift, and began rubbing soap over his body. "Why don't you join me, love? Let Draco watch the baby for a little while."

A hint of a smile touched her lips; the glint in her eye matched that in his. "You know it's too soon, Lucius. Ladon isn't even two weeks old yet!"

"You can bathe anytime, Narcissa. I don't recall suggesting anything beyond that," replied her husband, smirking. He wiggled his eyebrows and smiled the smile that never failed to capture her heart.

"Lucius, don't. We shouldn't even be talking like this when we're headed to the funeral of one of your friends." Narcissa pulled her head out of the shower to carry Ladon into the bedroom. He appeared to be unsullied, that was a relief.

Snuggling the sleepy infant to her chest, she went to Lucius' closet to pick him out another set of robes, which she laid out on the bed. Andromeda would be here soon to babysit Ladon while they were gone, she'd better go downstairs to wait. As much as Lucius loved having his wife watch him dress—and as much as she enjoyed it—she'd have to forego the pleasure this time.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

The Malfoys were one of the first families to arrive at the church, where the coffin with 'Nott's' body sat up at the front in the aisle between the rows of pews. As was customary before the service began, the lid to the casket was open. Narcissa, Lucius, and Draco wandered up the aisle to view the body and pay their final respects, both men feeling like heels for not telling the sniffling Narcissa the truth.

Only a few minutes had passed when Fidelia and her children made their appearance. Lucius motioned surreptitiously and said quietly, "Draco, take your mother to talk to Fidelia. I'll be along in a minute."

Lucius gazed down at the body, startled yet again by how like Nott the corpse appeared. Had he not heard the story from Rodolphus himself and seen the real Nott with his own eyes, he would certainly believe this wizard was the Death Eater he'd known for twenty years. The man lay serenely, eyes closed, hands folded over his stomach…and Nott's family ring glaring up at all and sundry.

Furtively Lucius removed his wand from his cane and pointed it at the ring, which easily slipped off the wizard's finger and scooted to the side of the coffin nearest Malfoy; with a quick glance about to assure himself no one was watching, Lucius reached into the casket, snatched up the ring in his fist, and casually deposited it into his trouser pocket under the pretense of rummaging for a handkerchief, which he produced long enough to dab at dry eyes before placing it into his breast pocket.

Again pointing the wand, he lifted the left hand and placed it overtop the right hand, a reversal of position that conveniently his the fact that the ring was no longer there.

He slid the wand back into its spot in the body of his cane and strode down the aisle to offer condolences to Fidelia, Theo, and the other children. He quickened his pace when Fidelia raised her voice at a wizard who obviously didn't belong here, a redheaded young man wearing a green tweed blazer like a Muggle.

"Get out! You have no right to be here, you murdered him!" shrieked the widow, held back from attacking the man by her son Theo. In her grief and frustration she burst into tears, causing the younger children to break into sobs.

Lucius deliberately stalked right up to the young man, who gave the impression he'd have backed up if he weren't already flat against the wall at the back of the church. Sneering with undisguised loathing and contempt, Lucius said, "You're not so bold now that I'm no longer in a prison cell. Percy Weasley, isn't it? I had no idea you and Nott were friends."

"We aren't!" Percy retorted. "I mean, we weren't. I've been assigned here—"

"To monitor the funeral?" Lucius finished in a drawl, eyeing Percy coldly. "How gauche. While I wouldn't wager a galleon on _your_ intelligence, I had thought Shacklebolt possessed more common sense than to think any Death Eater still at large would be fool enough to show up here. The family ought to be permitted to grieve in peace."

Percy had the decency to look abashed. "It's not my choice, Runcorn ordered me and two others to come."

"Why? Nott has been declared officially dead. He's lying there in front of your face!" Lucius snarled, pointing down the aisle with his cane at the casket. "No Death Eater is going to come. Is the family somehow suspect?"

"No…I don't think so." Percy shuffled uncomfortably. He hadn't _asked_ for this task!

"Then don't you agree that waiting outside would be the proper thing to do?" asked Malfoy through clenched teeth. Despite his fury, he fully understood the workings of the Ministry. Until Nott was buried, there would be no respite from the aurors; the Nott family had been under surveillance right up until 'Udo' was killed, and even now Fidelia would be observed along with everyone in attendance, names would be secretly passed on to those in higher positions for purposes of blackmail later on. If anyone feared that a connection to Nott would taint his reputation, he'd best serve himself by not making an appearance today.

"I've been commanded to stand guard inside," insisted Percy.

"Then might you and your cohorts show the civility of making yourselves less conspicuous? I assume you learned disillusion charms in school."

Percy jerked his head in a show of consent, then squeaked along the wall until he was well past Lucius before bolting away toward another out-of-place man stationed halfway up the church, leaning against the wall. They conversed briefly, then Percy went off to locate the third man of their team; the one leaning on the wall stood up and covered himself with a disillusion charm. Unless one looked hard for him, he wouldn't be noticed at all.

Lucius sauntered back toward Narcissa, pleased with himself. Seeing her sobbing, arms around the wailing Fidelia, made his heart ache. She hadn't been close to Nott, but the pregnancy hormones combined with her natural empathy took a toll. How he wished he could stop the pretense, stop all the needless suffering, yet he could not. Roddy was right, this was the only way Fidelia and her children—and Nott—would ever truly be free. Once the coffin was in the ground, there'd be no more need to spy on the family, they could finally resume their lives normally. Of course, Nott couldn't return to his home, too many people would see him and grow suspicious….they'd have to move the family far away where they weren't known. But at least they could be together, and the aurors wouldn't be on their shoulders anymore.

He caught Severus coming in with Jacinta, Jack, and Glenna and hurried to pull them aside in the foyer. "There are three aurors under disillusion charms here to 'document proceedings'," he muttered. "Fair warning."

Severus nodded curtly. His reputation could do without association to Nott. Nonetheless he steeled his jaw and said, "Three boys—Nott's boys—were my students. As Headmaster, I have the right and duty to be here."

"And I don't care who knows he was my friend," spat Jack. His eyes looked a bit puffy and red. "We've been like brothers since we were little kids."

Jacinta didn't say a word, she simply marched into the church right over to the family and embraced Theo. Jack took Glenna's hand and followed Jacinta in, leaving Snape behind with Malfoy.

"I hate this, watching them suffer," Severus hissed. His hawkish gaze darted around the church in search of the aurors.

"I know," Lucius commiserated. Both of them fully comprehended what was at stake here; a few day's worth of sorrow for their loved ones was a small price to pay for Nott's freedom. If the aurors detected a lack of true mourning, word might get back to the Ministry. "We'd better go in."

Lucius slid into the pew beside Narcissa and Draco, only one row from the front, which was reserved for family. He smiled inwardly…sitting so close, refusing to distance herself from the Nott family was his lovely wife's way of telling the Ministry where they could stuff their petty rules and scrutiny, and it made his heart swell. Draco looked decidedly miserable, no doubt because he wished to tell his friend Theo the truth and dared not.

"Draco!" came a whispered voice from the aisle. Draco turned his head to see Pansy, accompanied by her hulking husband. "Want to sit with us?"

The boy's glance flitted to his father, who sat in the aisle seat. The man's countenance was blank, the way he habitually kept it in public, something Draco struggled to master. And yet, Lucius had the uncanny ability to say with a blank expression a wide variety of things. Combined with a slight tilt of the head, it meant _Obey me or else._ A lifting of the chin meant _I'm proud of you._ Looking down his nose and turning his head signified _How repugnant!_

At this moment Lucius had raised his eyebrows but a millimeter, which said _Do as a Malfoy would do._

"Thanks, Pansy…you too, Goyle. I'll stay with my family." Another of the Malfoy rules scrolled through his brain: _Malfoys stick together in times of trial._ He looked back at his father, pleased to see the man's chin edge upward in approval.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

_Severus was walking down a strangely empty hallway in what he knew to be Hogwarts, despite how nothing looked as it should. He stopped in front of a door…the door to his old quarters before he'd become Headmaster. He knocked sharply._

_Aline Conn opened the door with a puzzled frown. "Headmaster, is something wrong?"_

_"No, everything is fine. I merely wished to express my satisfaction with your performance in aiding young Bayly the other day. I confess I'm both stunned and intrigued by your talent, Miss Conn."_

_Aline blinked several times, and smiled. "Thank you. May I ask why don't you call me Aline? You use other Professors' first names."_

_Severus shrugged. Why did he feel like a troop of monkeys had taken up residence in his rib cage? "I forgot to give you something earlier."_

_"Okay. Why don't you give it to me now?" she asked, extending her hand._

_"If you insist," Severus said primly. He stepped in one pace, grabbed her by the arms, drew her to his chest, and planted a kiss on her startled lips. Releasing her, he stepped back and brushed down his robe. "Good evening, Miss Conn." He turned on his heel and strode away, leaving her gaping in shock._

Snape awoke instantly with a raspy inhaled gasp. His eyes shot open and he stared into the blackness for several seconds, his heart pounding, his mind whirling, until at last he recognized that it had been a dream. Just a dream. His body relaxed against the mattress, though his eyes continued to stare at the ceiling.

"Bloody hell," he croaked.


	39. Untitled

Death Eater No More—Chapter Thirty-Nine (Untitled)

"Severus, are you even listening to me?" Minerva felt a sudden urge to pop the man upside the head, which rattled her. She patted and smoothed her bun to calm herself.

"Yes, Minerva," Snape droned with a gaze over at Aline who—thankfully—seemed blissfully unaware of his compulsive need to stare at her ever since that bizarre dream. She was having an intent discussion with Flitwick. "I'm sure it will all work out for the best."

"What are you blathering on about?" demanded McGonagall. She set her tea on the staff table.

Snape forced his eyes to roam back to the Transfiguration professor and latch into focus, squinting slightly and cocking his head. "What are _you_ talking about?" he hedged.

"What are we now, twelve?" asked Minerva sarcastically. "I was of the impression you had superb powers of concentration! I _said_ Bayly Young is acting unusually happy."

Severus glanced at the Ravenclaw table where Bayly was sitting with Gloria, Luna, and Floyd, all of them laughing about something and looking like the carefree teenagers they ought to look like. He smiled in spite of himself. "Indeed, he is. I can't say I've ever witnessed such a radical change in behavior before."

"And that is precisely what worries me. He's been so morose and withdrawn, now all of a sudden he's not…" She leaned in for a confidential whisper over the hubbub in the Hall. "Severus, I fear he may have gotten hold of some of those Muggle _drugs_ Hermione told me about! They can cause—"

"The boy is not using drugs," Severus chided, looking past her again at Aline. He noted with interest that she drank cranberry juice rather than the preferred staple here, pumpkin juice. "Yesterday Miss Conn discovered Bayly had been cursed by his father; we were fortunate to be able to reverse it, hence the boy's change of demeanor." _Damn it, woman, move that blasted big hat, you're blocking my view!_

McGonagall twisted around in her seat to catch sight of Aline behind her, and a pursed smile spread over her face. "What's the matter? Does Aline have her robes on inside out?"

"What?"

"You've been gawking like a smitten teenager at her throughout breakfast," stated Minerva, smirking.

"I—well—I don't—I most assuredly have _not_," he sputtered back, flushing uncontrollably.

"You're losing your touch, Severus," said the old witch, raising her cup to her thin lips for a sip. "Used to be I couldn't tell when you were lying."

"At least I'm not losing my grip on reality, _Minerva_," Snape retorted, feeling as childish as he sounded and more than a bit concerned.

Merlin's beard, had he been so blatantly obvious? Why did this bother him so much anyway, it was just a stupid dream! A pang shot through him: what if Conn had sent him that dream to discombobulate him? Was she deliberately messing with his mind? Was she even capable of such a feat? No, the whole premise was asinine, it was only a dream, it didn't mean anything…and neither did his attraction to her knowledge and intellect—purely professional, not a whit more. _Get ahold of yourself, Snape! When people like McGonagall can tell there is something wrong, the façade has definitely slipped more than a little._ What was next, the brain dead Longbottom advising him on proper Potions procedures?

"Are you quite alright, Headmaster?"

"I'd be better if you desisted from haranguing me," he muttered. Oh goody, the day hadn't started off dreadfully enough—here came the Pewter Duo, Granger and Potter. To his dismay, for a brief second he found himself grateful for their presence if only to divert McGonagall's unwanted attention elsewhere.

"Aren't you going to show him, Hermione?" Harry queried in a tone too loud to be called conspiratorial. Typical indiscreet Potter.

"I don't think now is the time," Hermione hissed back, only a hair lower in volume. Honestly, those Gryffindorks had raised subtlety to a whole new low!

"There's never a good time for something like this," Harry argued. In one swift lunge he made a swipe at the bag she carried over her shoulder, yanked out a newspaper peeking out the top, and tossed it spinning across the table where it landed with smack precision directly in front of Severus…also directly on top of his scrambled eggs and bacon, long grown cold.

His scowl dripping with venom rather than the uneaten bits of his breakfast, Snape pushed back his chair and rose gradually to his feet, his robes seeming to grow around him. Harry backtracked a single step before bumping into Hermione, who'd halted in place, eyes and mouth open wide in gaping horror.

Ever so slowly Snape turned to face the Wonder Brat, eyes flashing like lightning over the sea. Jaw clenched, voice controlled, he snarled, "Mr. Potter, I presume you have a good reason for attempting to assault me with the _Daily Prophet_ and for ruining perfectly good food." _Because if you don't I will personally dissect you and feed you to the giant squid,_ remained unsaid but understood.

"Er, yes, sir?" said Harry in a quasi-question. At the time it seemed a good reason, but upon finding himself in a staring match with the obsidian-orbed professor, he wasn't so sure anymore. "Read the first article."

Severus refrained from slapping Potter on general principles, mainly because it would have entailed chasing the slippery brat down to do so, as he was out of reach and—regrettably—faster than the Headmaster. He picked up the paper, sodden and filthy on the underside, and gave it a flick; a lump of bacon bounced across the table. He produced his wand to dry it so he could read.

_The End of an Era—or Nott__ byline…Rita Skeeter_

_Last night a ferocious member of Voldemort's inner circle of thugs was laid to rest in the family plot at the Nott estate. I'm sure I join the free world in a sigh of relief._

_Udo Nott, notorious Death Eater, had been at large since the Battle of Hogwarts in June of last year. Aurors had failed to capture Nott, among other Death Eaters still on the loose. We can only imagine what additional mischief he'd been up to, what depraved horrors he wrought before being found blessedly murdered in a snowdrift in Hogsmeade. Many are the citizens who would love to claim credit for his demise, though the brave witch or wizard responsible has yet to come forward. There are even those who surmise it may have been one of Nott's old cronies who did him in, a personal vendetta. Whatever the case, the world is a better place for it._

_It is only a matter of time before parents of children at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry discover that their Headmaster, Severus Snape, was in attendance at Nott's funeral. Snape, as it may be recalled, played both sides of the fence during the war, finally landing on the side of Albus Dumbledore as his spy among Voldemort's minions. He helped to protect and train Harry Potter for his showdown with the evil wizard._

_While Snape's motives for paying respects to a Death Eater might be interpreted as benign support for Nott's sons, who attend Hogwarts, this reporter must wonder whether his presence reflects the result of misplaced friendship with the deceased during his Death Eater days. My sleuthing has uncovered the fact that Snape and Nott were in Slytherin House together throughout their school days, and were considered friendly._

_Along that vein, if Snape and Nott were chums, it is not inconceivable that Snape may have permitted Nott to visit his boys at Hogwarts. Did he allow them to practice the Dark Arts with their father, to become Death Eaters in training while the Headmaster blithely went about his duties? What sordid practices went on in the clandestine hallways of Hogwarts? One can only speculate._

_We the community must hope that Headmaster Snape, from his position of high authority, has the wherewithal to deprogram such children in his care, and to stress the importance of turning their backs on relatives who sided with the dark wizard during that terrible war…_

Severus didn't finish the article, he viciously crumpled the paper into a wad and flung it on the floor, his face a mask of fury. The audacity of that bitch! To attack him….he rather expected that. To attack Nott's grieving sons? That was unconscionable! When Fidelia and the kids saw this—and they surely would—they'd be devastated all over again.

Ignoring the apprehensive looks of the teachers near him, he ground the paper into the floor with his heel before stomping off to his office to brood in solitude. If only he could settle the score with a quick slice across the throat to silence that squawking hen once and for all!

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Lucius apparated outside Gringotts for the first time in years. The anti-apparition barriers on Diagon Alley had finally been lifted when the Ministry determined that with Voldemort dead and most of his henchmen in prison, the streets were safe enough once more.

He barely noticed the gleaming white building or the goblin guard in his gold and scarlet uniform as he strode purposefully up the steps and into the marble hall where scores of goblins sat on high stools performing their duties while more were escorting witches and wizards to or from their safes through the many doors leading off the hall. Lucius deftly collared one of the swarthy creatures as he walked by, bringing him to a halt with the serpent head of his cane on the shoulder. The petite goblin scarcely came to his waist.

"I'd like to visit my vault." There was no need for introduction, all the goblins and nearly everyone else knew who he was, one of their best and richest customers.

"You have your key, Mr. Malfoy?" asked the being in a heavy accent.

_Of course not, you worthless lump of flesh! I enjoy wasting your time and mine_, he thought, rolling his eyes. Lucius held up the golden key for inspection.

The goblin didn't call for an underling to escort Lucius, he simply motioned for Malfoy to follow him through the nearest door into a stone passageway lit with torches that reminded the wizard rather uncomfortably of the old Death Eater days, the castle used for meetings, the atrocities…

A tiny cart hurtled its way up the railway tracks and stopped in front of them, they crawled in wordlessly—seriously, what could Lucius possibly have to say to a _goblin_?—and Lucius carefully tucked his cloak around him so it didn't hang over the side. The cart took off at a dizzying pace to a destination deeper still in the ground that would have driven a claustrophobic stark raving mad. The cart squealed to a stop in front of a door tall enough for a man to walk in without stooping….a door guarded by a sleeping blue dragon with green tipped wings secured by a hefty collar and chain.

The corners of Lucius' mouth turned upward at the sight. He liked to pretend the beast belonged to him, he'd even given it a name years ago. Owning a dragon for personal use was illegal in Britain, though the goblins had permission to use them for protecting certain chambers containing great wealth. The goblin made to poke the already growling, hissing dragon with a pole he'd procured from a crevice nearby. Knowing the thoughtless, even cruel treatment dragons often received from goblins, Lucius waved him away.

"Leave him be."

He approached the enormous creature and knelt beside him to stroke the dragon's muzzle. It sniffed him, then closed its eyes in recognition and purred very like a large cat that happened to breathe fire. It angered Lucius to see the dragons chained up and mistreated; having spent more time than he wanted to remember under Azkaban accommodations, he felt a distinct sympathy for the beasts. Surely these goblins for all their reputed cleverness could come up with a better way to guard the treasure! He'd heard they were capable of magic that in some chambers sucked intruders through the door to a nasty fate of starvation or suffocation…why couldn't they use a variation of it for all the vaults?

"Thank you for taking care of my property," Lucius murmured into the dragon's floppy ear. He highly doubted the animal understood a word, though it must understand kindness. "I need to get some money, so you'll have to step aside, Xerxes."

The dragon made a whining grunt in the back of its throat, then rose on all four stubby legs, raising its height to a good two meters and a length, including tail, of no less than five meters. It backed up away from the door, nearly pinning the goblin against the wall with its rear. The goblin ducked and scurried back to the cart for safety.

Lucius unlocked the vault and opened the heavy metal door. Inside the ten by ten foot room, stacked neatly from floor to ceiling in tightly packed columns were millions upon multi-millions of galleons that glowed brilliantly in the torchlight. Off to the right in a much smaller area were stacks of sickles with not a knut in sight. The far right corner housed a variety of large and small family possessions, and not a few dark objects best kept out of sight. This was not going to be quick or easy if he had to count each coin, maybe he could get some help.

"I need ten thousand galleons in sacks, another five thousand separate," he instructed the goblin. Most of that was already spoken for, but Narcissa would need money for baby shopping, naturally…and for herself. Best to have it on hand.

"We're not permitted to touch the customers' money," replied the goblin with what Lucius could swear was a sneer. Hard to tell on their devious, ugly faces.

"Do you have any sacks, or has Gringotts eroded to the point of requiring its best customers to carry their money out in their pockets?" gritted Lucius through clenched teeth.

The goblin produced three large burlap sacks, which Malfoy snatched out of his grotesquely long-fingered hand. Holding a sack open on the floor, he flicked his wand at one of the columns of coins that he'd estimated to be about one thousand galleons; they obediently whizzed across the space and clinked into the pouch. He repeated the action over and over until he'd got roughly five thousand galleons in each sack, which he then tied tightly to secure them and levitated them into the cart.

He closed and locked the door, then stepped over to pat the dragon's neck and snout again. What a magnificent pet it would make if it weren't for that pesky detail of illegality! "I'll see you next time, Xerxes. Be a good boy." He shot a spell at the cart and a live, immobilized rat drifted over, to be instantly snapped into the huge jaws.

The dragon snuffed out a hot breath and shook his head before nudging Lucius' chin with his snout to reciprocate the affection. With a touch of sadness Malfoy got into the cart and in its dazzling speed it summarily returned him to the doorway outside the marble hall. Glowering at the simpering goblin, he lugged the three heavy bags out of the cart and hauled them into the hall, dropping them just inside the door.

"Get me a cord to bind them together so I can levitate them all at once," he ordered. He could have bound them magically, but at this point he merely wanted to cause the hideous creature more trouble. The goblin bowed in an almost mocking way and sauntered off. Lucius sat down on one of the sacks to wait and leaned against the wall.

"Yes, killed them all, even the children," a voice was saying as it approached. "A rich family like that Irish bunch, the Guinness family."

Lucius turned his head to see a wizard he recognized as an auror speaking to a witch, both ignoring him. The witch queried, "Who is doing it? Uncaptured Death Eaters?"

"We don't know," grunted the man. "But I don't think so. They're stealing an odd assortment of articles—swords, daggers, silver tea sets, toys…no real pattern we can detect except affluence of the victims. It's frustrating."

The voices faded as they passed and Lucius stood up, his face grave. He remembered reading about the Guinness family murders; apparently there had been more, and the common denominator was wealth. Why did the law enforcement not see fit to notify potential victims? Were they _hoping_ the degenerates would strike? When he apparated home with his loot, he'd make sure to set up another set of wards around the property and manor, and to warn Narcissa and Draco to be more careful. He might even hire guards. As much as it would hurt, he could endure losing his valuables; he could not endure losing his loved ones.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"We don't really have to do this," said a nervous Floyd, gripping his broomstick in a death-throttle, inching toward the sidelines of the Quidditch pitch. "I mean, when am I ever going to use it?"

"Don't start that again," ordered Bayly as he grabbed him by the back of the collar to drag him back. "Every wizard should know how to fly. What if you're stuck in an anti-apparition zone and need to get somewhere fast?"

"I'm a pretty good runner," retorted Floyd, sulking, his dark eyebrows dipping.

Bayly draped an arm over the other boy's shoulder. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about, you just never had the chance to learn where there weren't other kids around to make fun of you. Wouldn't it feel good to show them?"

"I guess," muttered Floyd. The only thing that would feel good right now was a cozy fire in the tower; his hands, face, and bum were getting frostbitten as he spoke. "It's cold out here."

"Exercising warms you up," countered Bayly. "Come on, get on your broom and rise with me." He straddled his broom, kicked off, and rose to hover six body lengths in the air. Little puffs of steam hung in the air with his breaths.

That didn't look _too_ bad. Floyd reluctantly slung his leg over his broom, kicked off as he'd seen Bayly do, and rose wobbling to the same height, then jabbed the front of the broom down to stop. "Now what?"

"Now we fly around the pitch," said Bayly, growing rather concerned by the whimpering coming from Floyd as he looked at the ground which seemed a whole lot further away from up here. "We're not that high up, but if you fall I'll stop you with my wand."

"Like you stopped Gloria? You both almost got killed, as I recall."

"That was different, and it's not like you should be insulting me. I could leave you up here," snapped Bayly, and immediately felt bad for saying it.

"No! Just tell me what to do to get down!" Floyd squealed.

"Okay, good idea. Let's practice landing." As _Bayly_ recalled, the last time he'd seen Floyd touch down it had been face first. No wonder he was afraid of the broom! "Tilt your handle gently toward the ground and lean forward a little."

Floyd did as he was instructed, a bit too enthusiastically in his desire to get his feet on firm land. The handle rammed down steeply and he hurtled screaming toward the earth.

"Pull up! Pull up!" Bayly shouted frantically, drawing his wand.

Floyd pulled up sharply and careened wildly into the sky shrieking, "Make it stooooooop!"

Bayly cast a spell that hit Floyd and the broom at once, slowing them down like Muggle slow motion film, then flew up beside the other boy. "Listen to me. Level out and sit up straight."

Ever so gradually his friend obeyed until he was hovering once more.

"Now tilt down."

Floyd shoved the handle down and would have resumed his suicide dive had it not been for the spell keeping him moving exceedingly slow.

"Not that much, just aim _slightly_ down."

Floyd eased up.

"Yes, like that. Now lean forward a teeny bit and you can land."

Bayly removed the spell and the broom with Floyd on it descended gently to the ground in real time without so much as a stumble. Bayly followed him down, grinning broadly.

Once secure on the ground, Floyd demanded, "Where in the world did you learn a spell like that?"

"Durmstrang," answered Bayly casually. By now he was used to the fact that Hogwarts teachers withheld a great number of spells from their students. At least his friend had made it down in one piece.

"Can you teach me?" asked Floyd eagerly.

"No. I mean, it's not really….safe," Bayly admitted sheepishly. Maybe there was a reason Hogwarts teachers withheld spells. "Sometimes people get stuck—their brains, I mean—and can't get back to normal speed."

"In that case, thanks for using it on me!" huffed the other.

"You were going to massacre yourself! And most of the time that spell works fine…look at the bright side, now you know how to angle the broom for a smooth descent." The blond boy smirked with a high degree of Slytherin proficiency, despite being a Ravenclaw.

Floyd frowned as he wrapped his scarf over his dark hair like a babushka and shivered, whether from the cold or the fright was debatable. "This is hard and dangerous. Madame Hooch said I was hopeless."

"No, you're not! Alright, let's try this: we'll fly really slow right above the ground around the pitch, with your broom close enough to the ground for you to reach your feet down if you need to. How's that?" Bayly hated to go this route, the way he'd learned as a toddler, but he truly didn't want his friend to give up or get himself injured….or worse.

Surprisingly, Floyd wasn't insulted by the offer. He brightened visibly. "That sounds loads better! Then when I get good at it maybe I could try a little higher."

"Exactly!" Bayly raised his sight to a large figure lumbering across the pitch in their direction. From the sheer size and hairiness, it could none other than Hagrid. And what was he carrying? A shovel? No, it was an ordinary kitchen broom—ordinary for a normal human, making it look positively diminutive against the giant.

"Bayly! How are yeh?" called Hagrid, stomping into vocalizing distance. He brandished the tiny broom. "I seen yeh flyin' with this 'ere feller and figgered yeh could give me lessons, too."

He marched up beside the two perplexed students, both of whom were pondering the physics aspect of that broom holding Hagrid's generous weight. "Yeh don't mind, do yeh?"

"Uh, no," said Bayly, startled out of his thoughts. "I thought you already knew how to fly. Didn't you tell me you flew Harry Potter when he was a baby?"

"Well, sure—on a Muggle motorcycle charmed to fly," explained Hagrid, tugging at his beard. "Never had no need ter use a broom, an' the teachers weren't so patient in school, but it can' hurt ter learn, right?"

"Right," Bayly agreed, smiling. He loved how excited Hagrid was to learn more and faster. "Do you know my roommate Floyd?"

"Howdy there, Floyd." Hagrid shook his hand in a crushing grip and slapped the boy's back, sending him sailing forward to land on his hands and knees. "Oops…er, sorry." He bent over and picked the boy up with hands like hams around Floyd's waist, then set him upright.

"Hi, Hagrid," said Floyd as he brushed himself off. "Just out of curiosity, are you planning to use _that_ broom?"

Hagrid looked about shiftily and grinned. "Sure. Soon as I remember that spell ter enlarge it." He cast a glance at Bayly, who mouthed the charm. "Yep, got it. _Engorgio_." The frail bit of wood grew longer and hefty enough to support even one of Hagrid's size, and he flushed with pride.

"Okay, Hagrid, like I was saying to Floyd, maybe we should start out low…"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

How had he got roped into this? The last time he'd done something nice for Fidelia Nott, Lucius had received a face scratch, a slap, and a lingering lipstick mark on his robes that had caused a row with Narcissa. Oh, _now_ he remembered—_Narcissa_ had insisted he visit the grieving widow to attest to the fact that her husband was indeed alive and the current Nott was not an impersonator. _Yes, she'd buy that,_ he groused to himself. And if by a stroke of fortune she believed him, she'd undoubtedly attack him out of joy. He'd be lucky to escape unscathed in any case.

Well, not in this lifetime! To hell with the plan, he was making a new plan! He snapped at Nott, "Put on that damned glamour charm, you're coming with me!"

Nott wasted no time in complying, for he was extremely anxious to see his family and he much preferred to be present when they learned the truth. In the twinkling of an eye he'd morphed from a handsome, well groomed, dark-haired man into a dirty blond with straggly hair and beard. "How's that?"

"Very….American beach bum," drawled Malfoy, grasping for words. "Not quite what I anticipated, but it will do."

He crooked his finger and Nott followed him out of the Lestrange house. Though traveling by floo would have been easier and less conspicuous, this house wasn't connected to the network—which in the long run was for the best, he supposed. The Ministry could track floo travel, leading them right to three Death Eaters and possibly Lucius and Draco if they happened to be present.

He took hold of Nott's arm and apparated to Malfoy Manor, from where they floo'd to the Nott estate. As per instructions in the owl Lucius had sent an hour ago, Fidelia was waiting for him, her eyes red rimmed from crying. She recoiled somewhat at the man accompanying him, whom Lucius had to physically restrain from running to her.

Lucius smacked him on the back of the head. "I said I will talk to Fidelia first," he growled.

"Lucius, it's kind of you to come by," said Fidelia shakily, barely regaining her composure. How often in the past few days had she said similar words, so that they fairly dripped from her tongue? "What is the meaning of this?"

"Are we alone?" asked Malfoy.

The woman gave a pointed stare at the disheveled man, contempt oozing from her pores. "Evidently not."

Finding humor in the unintended double meaning of her words, Nott chuckled. "Good one, honey."

"How dare you use a familiar tone with me!" Fidelia hissed, her brown eyes sparking dangerously. This time Lucius had to step in front of _her_ to prevent an altercation.

"Fidelia, calm down. He's here with me because we bring good news, but maybe you ought to sit down." Lucius tried to guide her to a chair; he may as well have asked her to give up her youngest child as a house servant.

She rounded on him looking maniacal. What began as mere vitriol rose to a shriek. "Good news? You bring this—this _person_ into my house with the intention of setting us up for marriage and you call it _good news_?"

Lucius stopped dead in his tracks. "What? Never mind, I don't want to know how your mind came up with that one. Your husband is alive."

Pause. She stared hard at Lucius, started to speak, and halted. Finally she burst into tears and lashed out at him, barely missing his jaw with a roundhouse punch. "That's not funny, Lucius! How could you be so cruel!"

Driven by sorrow at his wife's pain, and before Lucius had a chance to dig the hole deeper, Nott removed his glamour charm. He stepped into her line of sight and said, "Fidelia, I'm alive."

She lurched backward in shock and terror, screamed, and promptly swooned. Nott caught her and lowered her to the floor with her head resting on his lap. He bent down to kiss her and stroke her cheeks and arms, to embrace her as much as he could from this position.

"Good going, Nott," said Lucius. "I think I'll put you in charge of all my delicate situations."

"Shut up, Malfoy. She's my wife, I can't bear to see her hurt."

Fidelia was coming around. When she saw the man holding her, she screamed again, but he silenced her with a kiss that she melted into, flipped over on the floor, and knelt up for a more satisfying embrace. At last she pulled away to murmur, "You kiss like Udie, but I buried him. Are you his ghost?"

"No, sweetheart, it's me. Rodolphus made Varden drink Polyjuice potion to look like me, then he killed him," Nott explained with his face buried in her neck, his tears of happiness hidden from Lucius.

"You killed him for what?"

"No, not me, I didn't even know." For the next few minutes he carefully related the entire story and then held the woman as she sobbed over how Rodolphus had hurt her and the four kids, and how they suffered still.

When he thought it was nearly over, she punched him in the chest and demanded, "Why didn't you tell us as soon as you knew? You let us suffer all this time—your wife, your children!"

Rubbing the rapidly forming bruise but not trying to avoid any other blows, Nott replied, "I wanted to. Rodolphus said the aurors would be watching, and he was right. If the funeral seemed fake, they'd know something was wrong."

"You should have told me!" she screeched.

Lucius stepped up to Nott's defense. "Fidelia, he did what he had to do for himself, for you, and for the kids. He's free now to start a new life without them looking for him, all he has to do is move away and change his name and appearance—growing his hair and a beard should do it. Isn't that short trial worth having him back?"

In reply she took off her pump and whipped it at him, but she did snuggle up against her husband's chest again, clutching him for dear life. "Where are we supposed to move where no one will know who you are?"

Nott smiled contentedly. "Rodolphus said we can move the family to the Lestrange house in Scotland—but you'd have to tell everyone you were moving to Italy to be near Zabini relatives. We can plant a vegetable garden and I can get a job in a nearby town, and we can figure out what to do from there."

"Udie, I buried your ring with that Varden creep, I'm sorry," lamented the witch as she rubbed her hands over his naked fingers.

"It's just a ring," he murmured into her hair. If it hadn't been his father's and grandfather's, he wouldn't care at all. All that really mattered was his family.

Feeling much like a fifth wheel, Lucius produced the ring from his pocket and held it out to Nott. "It's a family heirloom. It belongs to Theo, I couldn't let it be buried with that pervert."

Nott smiled and would have thrown an arm around him if he hadn't been held on the floor by his wife's grip. "You're such a good friend. I see why Sev has always been so loyal to you."

Lucius nodded and took a serious tone. "I must go, but let me caution you both once again. It is imperative that the children tell _no one_ their father is alive. Family can know—adults only! In fact, were I you I would immediately withdraw my sons from Hogwarts and place them in Beauxbatons where nobody knows any of you and Nott's presence won't arouse suspicion. Then you need to prepare to move."

"I don't want to sell our house!" wailed Fidelia. In her overwhelmed state, Lucius feared she might become hysterical…again.

"Let Theo live here. He's grown, he can manage the place," suggested Lucius. "Years from now you can move back with your new, bearded husband."

"She's not marrying somebody else!" snarled Nott before realizing that Malfoy meant _him_. "Oh. Never mind."

Lucius rolled his eyes. He hesitated to say he knew that Nott's family had never been wealthy despite being ancient purebloods like himself, and that Udo's father had squandered a good deal of what they had on the dark lord's cause. Beauxbatons wasn't free as Hogwarts was, and expenses could get tight, especially before Nott procured a job. Still, he hated to talk money, it sounded so crass. "I wish you both luck."

With that he backed into the fireplace and was gone in a flash of light. A minute later the fireplace flashed again to reveal two bulging bags with _Gringotts_ stamped on them, with an attached note.

_This will help in your new life. If you screw it up, Nott, and anyone comes looking for me, I swear I'll hunt you down and kill you myself. Have a nice life, I expect I'll see you around._


	40. Masters of Deception

Death Eater No More—Chapter Forty (Masters of Deception)

As they did on a regular basis now, Narcissa and Andromeda had arranged a play date for their babies—not that Ladon was really up to playing with another yet. The infant hadn't even reached two months of age, let alone the 'sitting up by himself' stage. He simply lay on his back on the thick blanket sprawled across the marble floor of the main sitting room, staring up and gurgling at the enchanted wooden rattle that hovered above his face and shook itself periodically. Every so often he flailed wildly, attempting to bat it with his tiny fists.

Teddy, on the other hand, had become quite proficient at crawling into mischief at every turn. Now that he'd begun standing against the furniture, it was only a matter of time before he was running headlong into dangers. _Very Gryffindor material_, Narcissa thought, sipping her tea. _Better keep an eye on that one._

"That's a beautifully carved rattle, Cissy," noted Andromeda. "Custom made?"

"You could say that. Pansy and Gregory Goyle gave it to Ladon—Gregory made it himself, can you believe it?" beamed Narcissa.

Andy frowned slightly. "I thought the Goyles were all a little….slow."

"Oh, he is in most ways," Narcissa confirmed, nodding sagely. "But he has an odd talent for working with wood, as you can see. He's taken a position at the Magical Toy Emporium." She picked up the platter containing a wide variety of biscuits and offered it to her sister. "Any news or gossip to share?"

Andy selected a cookie and munched on it thoughtfully. "I heard the Nott family moved to Italy after Udo's funeral. Fidelia being a Zabini by birth, I guess she has relatives there."

"I heard the same," said Narcissa, staring the other woman right in the eye without betraying her knowledge with as much as an eyelid quiver. It wasn't a lie, merely an omission, and Lucius had stressed how crucial it was to keep the secret that Udo was alive and to share it only with those who needed to know and could be trusted with the information. To date that included no more than the Notts, the Malfoys, Severus, Jacinta, and Jack Mulciber. Fidelia had long suspected Mrs. Zabini of having a hand in the death of Blaise's father—Fidelia's brother—and thus was not prone to divulge such sensitive material; Blaise might be reliable enough in a case like this, but his mother was a wild card not to be trusted lightly. "Theo stayed in the family estate, though. Someone ought to watch over it, and it's more convenient for him to see Jacinta and to go to work."

"Oh!" exclaimed Andromeda, suddenly animated. "I read that awful article in the _Prophet_; to be honest, I'm shocked he didn't quit his job after what Rita Skeeter wrote about his family! That witch has no limits, does she?"

"From what I understand, Jacinta convinced Theo not to quit because he needs the job, but he insisted on having a new mentor. She said Severus asked Skeeter for an interview in which to defend his actions and the Nott boys. Knowing Severus, he'll give her a thorough, uncensored piece of his mind." Narcissa smiled to think of it.

Andromeda chuckled along. "No doubt. And Skeeter will somehow twist it around to her advantage. She's certainly taking her time in allowing the rebuttal."

"Probably hoping people will forget how caustic her article was, giving the impression that Snape is attacking her unjustifiably." Narcissa shook her head. While she wanted to see Severus get his reprisal, it didn't seem likely to happen. She glanced around the room. "Where did Teddy go?"

A sudden shrill burst of laughter from the hallway answered her question. Teddy had crawled out and found himself an unlikely playmate—little Pip the house elf, who gaped in mixed wonder and fright at the bold child trying to paw his way up Pip's frail body to reach his nose and ears. Pip let out a distressed wail at the sight of the baby's hair ranging through the color palette as his face took on the look of a house elf himself.

"Teddy, leave him alone. He's not a toy," admonished Andy, pulling him off.

"Eff. Pway eff." His hands strained for the creature.

"Pip, go find Cinchona and stay with her until we leave," advised the witch. Why was it that every baby in the wizarding world thought elves were overgrown, live toys that were fun to torment? Not needing to be told twice, the elf wheeled and scurried away. Andy lugged the squirming, squalling tot back into the sitting room, his head still grossly misshapen. She took out her wand from the back pocket of her Muggle jeans and transfigured a pillow into a large playpen, into which she deposited the protesting Teddy.

"Poor thing, I hope he learns to control that metamorphosis," sighed Narcissa. Honestly, the child looked ghastly! Not like her own beautiful, perfect son.

"It took Dora a few years to master it," answered Andy, unconcerned. "Oh, I was wondering if you'd like to go shopping with me tomorrow, they have the most adorable shoes on sale…"  
XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Lucius didn't appreciate being called away from his study for an unknown visitor. Money didn't make itself, he had contracts to look over and sign for investing capital, sales of properties and buying of others—at Romulus Young's urging—and a plethora of other irons in the fire, all of which had to be monitored carefully to make sure the Malfoy fortune grew rather than diminished despite his overly zealous donations to Hogwarts, St. Mungo's, the orphanage, and the rest of the hands grasping toward his purse strings.

As he approached the front door, Sisidy flung it open to reveal a solidly built gentleman with collar length dark hair pulled into a short ponytail. The man gave a knowing grin, to which Sisidy surged a bit closer, hands at ready, looking fierce as she protected her beloved Master Lucius. For his part, Lucius returned a wary gaze to the stranger. There was something familiar about the chap, yet he couldn't distinguish him as anyone he knew.

"I am Lucius Malfoy. I don't believe we've met."

"I disagree." The other wizard grinned wider, more familiarly. He inclined his head at one of the two guards posted on the porch. "What's with the guards? Getting paranoid, Malfoy?"

That voice! Lucius grabbed him by the lapels of his robes, hauled him inside, and slammed the door. "Macnair, you moronic son of a bitch! What did I tell you about coming here?"

"Not to," croaked Macnair, struggling to free himself without arousing the ire of the devoted elf. He was stronger than Malfoy, but that elf could flatten him in a second. "The name is Marshal now. Wallace Marshal."

Lucius let him go and stepped back in awe. The hair was still dark, of course, just longer. He was clean shaven—no more of that prized mustache, and the cheekbones looked higher and more prominent than he remembered. The nose was straighter, more aquiline; the jaw, formerly a bit weak, had a strong definition now and jutted out a touch, and a cleft had been added to the chin. Even the eyes had assumed a different shape, rounder, less squinty. The entire effect astounded him. Out of self-preservation, Lucius removed his wand from his pocket and cast an anti-glamour charm spell. Nothing happened. It really was Macnair.

Just before Christmas he'd dragged Macnair to a Muggle plastic surgeon he found advertised in their directory. A quick _confundus_ charm made sure the doctor believed he'd been paid; an itty bitty _Imperius_ made sure the man did his best work and breathed not a word of it outside his office, as well as put Macnair up in a hotel with frequent doctor visits until he was completely healed. Here it was the beginning of March, and it seemed Macnair was indeed healed.

"Wallace Marshal?" Lucius repeated, regaining control over his astonishment.

"It seemed easiest to pick something close enough so I don't mess up," replied Macnair/Marshal. "I get to keep the same initials, and when I introduce myself I automatically start with _Wal_…so now it's Wallace."

"I see. How did you get here?"

"Not by apparating," snarled Macnair/Marshal nastily. "I had to take the Knight Bus, then I had to pay with Muggle money, which they didn't want to accept. I was tempted to grab the porter's wand and hex them to hell, but obviously I didn't. Now would you be so kind as to remove the spell you put on my head that will make it explode if I apparate?"

Smiling, Lucius lifted his wand again, aimed it at Macnair's/Marshal's head, and a blast of blue light struck him; he swayed but didn't fall. "Done. Where do you plan to get a wand?" Not Conn's shop, that woman would see him for the gung ho Death Eater he'd been and turn him in!

"Ollivander's, of course." He'd have no trouble exchanging his Muggle money for galleons in Knockturn Alley. "He doesn't know _this_ me…you don't think he'll recognize me, do you?"

"Extremely unlikely. I'm more accustomed to the sight of you than most, and I didn't know you," said Lucius, staring pensively at the wizard. "Just be cautious, your voice is still your own, some people may recognize it. I'll ask Snape if he's heard of a potion or spell to permanently alter the voice. That would ensure no one could positively identify you." And in the bargain would assure that no one could connect Lucius to aiding and abetting a criminal.

"That would be good, as long as it doesn't make me sound girly or weird," Macnair/Marshal answered. "Once I get my wand, I'm going to visit Roddy and Rabastan. They might consider going the same route I did."

Lucius nodded slowly, still fascinated by the transformation. "They might at that. But you'd best send an owl ahead to notify them if you don't want to end up dead. And visit before the voice alteration." His friend nodded in agreement. "Nott is living there with his family now, but I doubt he'd undergo surgery, his wife is vehemently opposed to changing his face."

"Once she sees it's not ugly, she might change her mind," the other quipped.

"Perhaps. So what now, Mac—Marshal? Are you going to get a job? I caution you against any murder or mayhem, you need to be legal from here on out."

"I'm not stupid, Malfoy. If I feel an overpowering desire to execute someone, it will be justified." The expression on Lucius' face didn't look encouraging. "I'm not going to kill anybody! Happy?"

"You'd better not," warned Lucius, the words strangely menacing in their softness. "I put myself on the line for you. If that kindness comes back to haunt me or molest me in any way, I will rectify the situation by whatever means necessary."

Threat received, acknowledged, and filed away. He'd never known Malfoy to murder or even to kill, that had belonged to the more _boisterous_ members of the Death Eaters. Nonetheless, Macnair/Marshal had no doubt in his mind that Malfoy would butcher him like a rabid goat if he caused harm to him or his family. "Do you think I went through all this surgery to blow my cover? I'm looking forward to a new life, a fresh start…maybe even a wife."

He smiled wistfully. His first wife had divorced him shortly after he'd been arrested for Death Eater activities so very long ago. He wondered what it would be like to have a relationship like Lucius and Narcissa, both of whom always seemed so deliriously satisfied.

"I wish you luck," said Lucius soberly. "Where are you staying?"

"The Leaky Cauldron, I imagine. Why?"

"After I speak with Severus, I'll owl you. Until then, try to talk as little as possible." As he said this he guided the fellow to the door. "Remain inconspicuous. Can you do that?"

Macnair/Marshal snorted. "I worked in a Muggle grocery, for Merlin's sake! I think I can manage to lay low among my own."

"Good, you do that." Lucius opened the door and Wallace Marshal stepped out; for the first time in months, he was able to apparate away.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"I'm bored," complained Blaise, sprawling lazily on a public bench in a park. He was dressed in one of his 'playing Muggle' outfits: blue jeans and a T-shirt with a beer slogan emblazoned across the front, topped by a light jacket.

Surrounding him, in their own suitable attire, were Daphne, Draco, Pansy, and Gregory. Were it not for Jacinta's objections to their 'asinine game', Theo would have come as well, but he'd learned early on in his dealings with the witch that she didn't tolerate bigoted nonsense. Ever since he'd decided to pursue her affections, he'd thought it prudent to desist from mocking her Muggle grandfather.

Daphne kicked out her booted feet and leaned back beside Blaise, her short purple skirt riding dangerously high and her tank top showing off more than deemed appropriate for a proper witch. Were it not for the cardigan she'd have looked undeniably like a hooker. "Yeah, I'm tired of this game. We need to find something different, more exciting."

Behind her, holding hands with her husband, Pansy giggled. "I know what would be fun!" She leaned down to whisper in Daphne's ear; the latter sat up straight, eager with anticipation.

"I love it!" As Daphne pointed at what looked like a large family gathering, she whispered it to Blaise, who laughed aloud.

"Love what?" asked Draco. After several times of dressing the part of a Muggle and joining their pathetic world, he still felt uncomfortable in his army surplus fatigue pants and black T-shirt. _And_ he'd forgotten a jacket so he was chilly, but no one had seen fit to nick him a jacket during their game.

"This," answered Blaise. Covertly he slid his wand from his pocket, holding it alongside his leg out of view of the general populace. He aimed at a man in the group across the park, some distance away. A moment later the man yipped and gripped the back of his neck as he glanced about in bewilderment.

"A stinging hex," proclaimed Pansy proudly.

All except Gregory snickered and murmured their approval and congratulated Pansy on her excellent idea. Goyle grunted, "I don't think it's funny. Those hurt, my mum uses—I mean, used it on me…when I was a kid, I mean."

Pansy squeezed his hand and batted her eyes up at him. "Where do you think I got the idea?" she cooed. "Besides, you used _crucio_ on people at school, that's a lot worse."

"Yeah, cuz the teachers made us. I wish now I'd of told 'em no."

Blaise evidently couldn't care less about physical discomfort of the 'lesser beings'. Already he'd targeted the rumps of two more unsuspecting Muggles, howling uproariously at their puzzlement as to where the sting came from. Everyone seemed to be searching the air for bees, especially after Daphne and Draco joined in the excitement. In a matter of minutes the air was abuzz, so to speak, with cries of pain and Muggles whirling around looking for the swarm of insects that surely must be nearby.

"This is stupid, I'm leavin'." Goyle didn't bother to look for a private place, since everyone's attention was on the crowd of people jumping and writhing. He disapparated, leaving his disgruntled wife behind.

Blaise twisted his head around to see the big man had gone. "What's Goyle being a baby about?"

Daphne and Draco looked back, both unaware their friend had gone until now.

Pansy sighed and shrugged. "I don't know. I thought he'd get a kick out of it. Now I

have to go humor him."

"Why bother? He'll get over it," said Draco. It wasn't as if Goyle had the brain power to remember what he was peeved about by tomorrow anyway!

"Because if I don't he might not want to—" She broke off, blood creeping into her cheeks and turning her whole face red.

"Is he that good?" teased Daphne, eyes alight. She'd really enjoyed Pansy's detailed account of the wedding night…apparently they needed another talk.

"Jeez, Pansy, if I'd known you were so desperate I'd have given you more attention in school," Blaise remarked, leering obscenely.

Pansy smacked him lightly across the head, glowering. "Shut it! I'm a lady." She turned her glare on Draco, who wisely chose to say nothing. "I guess I'll see you all later." With a quick glance around, she disappeared.

They might have continued their game, or at least watched the result of their handiwork, had Draco not caught sight of a disturbing view: Arthur and Molly Weasley strolling hand in hand down the street right past the family gathering. They paused to ask the squirming throng what the fuss was about, listened to the explanation, then cast their gaze about the park, landing unsettlingly on the three teens slouched on the bench. The couple's faces contorted with shock.

Draco's heart did a flip-flop. "Oh, shit! They recognize us!"

"So?" shrugged Daphne. "They can't prove anything."

"We're doing magic in front of Muggles—_on_ Muggles," Draco persisted in a choked voice. "That's against the law, we could get in trouble. They hate my family, they'll report us for sure."

"We'll get a fine, so what?" said Blaise. "No one was hurt—and like Daphne said, they can't prove it was us."

"Yeah, maybe," breathed Draco, unable to shake the bad feeling. "But they're coming this way. I'm getting out of here." So saying, he slid down the bench and disapparated on the spot.

Beginning to feel wary themselves and not in the mood to entertain blood traitors, Blaise and Daphne followed suit.

Molly grimaced as she stopped and turned to Arthur. "Do you honestly think they're responsible?"

"I do," he replied. "A bunch of pureblood kids out tormenting Muggles for fun is nothing new, and they skedaddled awfully quick. Seems pretty incriminating to me."

"You're not going to turn them in to the Ministry are you, Arthur? They didn't do any real harm, and we have no proof of their guilt."

Arthur pursed his lips angrily. The little rogues thought they could get away without any consequences, did they? Not if he could help it. "You're right, Molly, it would be pointless to turn them in to the Ministry. But I'll bet their parents would find this very enlightening."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Blaise Zabini's mother had listened to Arthur in a half-hearted, bored manner while she tapped her foot impatiently, then declared something to the effect of 'boys being boys'. Daphne Greengrass' parents had outright dismissed his claim as slander against their daughter. Arthur held out little to no hope that the Malfoys would be any different. Good heavens, he was talking about LUCIUS MALFOY, former Death Eater, for crying out loud! Since when did that man see anything his son had done as wrong? Why did he bother? Even if he spoke to Narcissa, she'd certainly side with her son.

Just as he'd made up his mind to leave, Lucius Malfoy was facing him in the doorway with that arrogant, contemptuous expression he habitually wore—at least in Arthur's experience. Who knew how he acted in private? Arthur couldn't picture him any other way.

"Lucius, thank you for seeing me." That wasn't so hard, was it?

Malfoy didn't so much as blink. "What is it, Arthur? Another wayward urchin you'd like to blame on me?" drawled the wizard, sneering coldly.

Unable to resist the bait, Weasley said, "As a matter of fact, it does involve a wayward youth—yours."

Lucius straightened his spine, his eyes glinting like steel plates. "Meaning?"

"Today in a park I happened to be passing by, several people—Muggles, if you must know—complained of stinging pains. They thought they'd been attacked by bees or the like, yet strangely enough there were none around. However, Draco and two of his friends were there, and I suspect they used stinging hexes on those people for fun," ranted Arthur, becoming angry all over again. "I tried to confront them and they apparated away."

For a few moments Lucius said nothing, his face blank. Finally he smiled tightly and murmured, "Thank you for that amusing fairy tale. I'll be sure to take it up with Draco. Good day." It seemed that he meant to turn away, but he'd barely moved before spinning back to add, "_Do_ stop dropping by unannounced. While _you_ may not be familiar with the concept, I have a reputation to uphold."

Lucius stepped back, shut the door, and stormed toward his study, fury burning in his chest. So now Weasley was following Draco around? It wasn't enough that bastard auror of a son kept popping up, now Arthur himself had got in on the act! Be that as it may, if Draco was using magic in a Muggle arena there could be ramifications—not the least being Lucius was trying his damnedest to further the Malfoy name, he didn't need a setback or a scandal.

"Sisidy, send Draco to my study."

He'd barely got himself settled in his plush leather chair when Draco hesitantly pushed the ajar door fully open. Notably he didn't attempt to approach any closer. "You wanted to see me, Father?"

Lucius studied him briefly; the boy seemed nervous. But then, Lucius had always been nervous whenever he'd been summoned to Abraxas' study as a youth, with good reason. He winced inwardly recalling the many reprimands and thrashings. "Arthur Weasley was here spouting some tripe about you hexing Muggles in a park. Were this the truth, it would reflect very poorly on our family. What have you got to say for yourself?"

Draco affected an innocent face, shrugging his thin shoulders. "I don't know what he's talking about. Maybe he mistook someone else for me."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps you're lying to me," crooned Lucius, folding his hands on his desk and casting an intimidating stare. "If I find that to be the case, I will be most displeased. You understand that, don't you, son?"

"Yes, Father." Draco forcibly restrained himself from fidgeting. "May I go now?"

Lucius waved his hand and Draco shot out the door. Lucius let him go without further comment; he truly didn't want to push the issue, not if it meant dealing with deception or Muggle baiting or anything else that would require him to discipline the boy. He had enough on his plate as it was, he'd prefer to let the incident go unscrutinized, and therefore unsubstantiated. It was easier to overlook that way.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Severus set a silver goblet of liquid on his desk…no, too obvious. He picked it up and moved it to a side table, then lifted the ornate cover. Curling streams of a clear, steamy mist poured over the sides and radiated out in all directions; within minutes it had permeated into every corner of the room with a delicious aroma of cedar and vanilla. That done, he went to the door of his office, cracked it open, slipped out, and shut the door.

"Potter!" he hissed. Where was that irresponsible whelp? "Potter!"

Harry came loping up the stairs. "Sorry, Professor, I had to use the loo."

"Spare me the rundown of your bodily function habits," Severus retorted dryly. "It is of the utmost importance that Minerva McGonagall does not come in here." He'd sent her on an errand which he belatedly deduced was probably a bad idea. It virtually guaranteed she'd be snooping around instead of doing as he asked…his luck just ran that way. If the Golden Brat couldn't keep her at bay, there'd be hell to pay on a grand scale.

"Yes, I know. I'm to keep her out," Harry recited rotely. "You've told me that like a dozen times. Why is it so important, are you afraid of her?" Instantly he regretted his flippancy. The glare scorching Harry's face seemed to bring him actual pain. He swiped a hand across his brow and backed up mumbling, "Sorry, sir."

"It is in the best interest of all involved that you know as little as possible," Severus stated, unable to contain a sneer. "Fortunately, with you that's a simple task."

"Yes, I'm brainless, haha," sighed Harry. "I'm not as dumb as you give me credit for. I even managed decent grades with Professor Slughorn."

"And _my_ book with _my_ notes," Severus pointed out. "Regardless, your job is extremely critical, for Minerva's sake. You must trust me, it's all I can tell you."

Harry's brow dipped in concern. It wasn't like Snape to entrust him with something really important unless he had no other resort—like handing over his memories in the Shrieking Shack. Yet here he was consigning the safety of the Deputy Headmistress to Harry, and he sounded as sincere as Harry had ever heard anyone sound. Whatever he had planned to go on in that room, it had to be big—and since it involved Rita Skeeter, he couldn't begin to imagine what it might be. Did he plan to kill her? If so, his office didn't exactly seem the ideal place to do it. Snape certainly was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't among them…

"Potter, pay attention!"

Harry blinked. "Oh, sorry. What was that?"

Snape moaned and rolled his eyes heavenward. It would be a flat-out miracle if this scheme succeeded, considering the 'help' he was forced to enlist! "During the course of our discussion I will inform Skeeter that we'd like a few minutes to speak alone among ourselves. She will step into the hall with you and what will you do?"

"I'll be hiding under my invisibility cloak very quietly until she leaves," chirped Harry. He suddenly had déjà vu of being back at the Dursleys. "I assume if I ask _why_, I'll get no answer."

"That is correct, you're learning faster than I thought possible," smirked Severus. "Jacinta and Theo should be here any time. Send them in immediately, and let me know when Skeeter gets here."

The slight curling of his lips into a cruel smile wasn't lost on Harry. Whatever Snape had up his perennially black sleeve, it was undoubtedly a doozy. If only he didn't have to be stuck in the hall and miss it!

(Next chapter—the Skeeter confrontation!)


	41. Creatures Above and Below

Death Eater No More—Chapter Forty-One (Creatures Above and Below)

The door to Snape's office was wrenched open again; Severus thrust a large camera into Harry's hands and attempted to close the door, finding himself unable to do so because it was blocked by Harry's foot conveniently wedged between the door and frame.

"Mr. Potter, kindly remove your foot before I remove it for you." Severus smirked at the double meaning.

"Professor, what's the camera for?" Harry demanded. "I'll be standing here by myself, and I doubt you're hoping for a life-sized photo souvenir."

Severus suppressed a gag. Martyr-like he heaved a sigh. "Honestly, Potter, why I chose you for this assignment is beyond me. Did I not already instruct you to take a picture of Ms. Skeeter shifting into her animagus form?"

Bristling at the suggestion that he was too thick to remember such a simple command, Harry retorted, "No. You never told me any such thing!"

"Humph! Well I'm telling you now." A swift, well aimed kick from Severus' boot knocked Harry's foot out of the way. "And make sure to stay hidden!"

"_That_ part you've harped on," Harry sulked.

"What are you pouting about?" Severus growled. His hand twitched with the instinctive desire to smack that spiky head. "You're the one who told me Skeeter is an animagus. I thought you'd jump at the chance to prove it to the world." _And in the process make all your worshippers notice you yet again, you attention-seeking prat._ He'd genuinely be surprised if Potter _didn't_ photograph himself numerous times!

"I feel like a stalker lurking around outside. It might not even work."

"Give yourself a little credit," crooned Severus in an unctuous voice that would make a snake oil salesman proud. "All those years of sneaking through the castle looking for opportunities to display heroics will undoubtedly serve you well."

"I wasn't looking—that's not fair—you're muddying the issue," sputtered Harry.

Snape raised a self-satisfied eyebrow. "Well, what can I say? A coherent, logical, eloquent argument like that couldn't possibly fail to win over the staunchest opponent. Alas, the period of the orator is passed, you've missed your calling."

Harry flushed to the roots of his hair. How did Snape manage to reduce him to a blubbering idiot? Not that he'd ever been 'orator' material, but he was certainly bright enough to hold his own with Rita Skeeter! "Why do Theo and Jacinta get to go in with you?"

Here Severus' good humor at mocking the Boy Wonder faded to a sullen grimace. "Jacinta's family—myself included—have been impugned and humiliated by that woman; Theodore's dead father and younger brothers were viciously attacked by that ruthless shrew. They deserve the chance to submit a rebuttal, do they not?"

"I guess so," Harry conceded. Skeeter had had a go at him during the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and had sniped here and there afterward, but nothing approaching the magnitude of these attacks on the Snapes and Notts. He slipped the strap of the altogether too bulky camera around his neck before reconsidering and hiding it under his cloak which he'd shoved in the corner out of view. "Fine, I'll content myself with getting her picture. How can you be sure she'll transfigure?"

"Rita Skeeter is a nosy, meddlesome witch. Do you sincerely think she would miss the opportunity to spy on our conversation?" asked Severus bluntly.

Harry shook his head, grinning. "No, sir, she wouldn't. I'll get that picture, don't worry."

With proof of Skeeter's illegal, unregistered animagus identity, the Ministry would have no choice but to impose a heavy fine at the very least, or to imprison her for the prescribed period of time. Maybe when she got out—minus a job as a scandalmonger—she'd learn to behave more decently. She'd maligned enough names to last a lifetime.

Only a few minutes later, Theo Nott and Jacinta were waiting in Snape's office when Minerva trudged up the stairs leading Skeeter, both of whom looked astonished to see Harry standing outside the door.

Rita got a devilishly delighted expression. Peering over the glasses perched on her nose she simpered, "Harry Potter, I didn't realize I'd have the pleasure of interviewing you again!" Already she'd reached into her luggage-sized handbag to retrieve her charmed quill.

"Mr. Potter, I don't recall the Headmaster mentioning you'd be here," McGonagall said.

"No, I'm not," Harry answered, glancing from one to the other. "I mean, not for the interview. I, er—needed to talk to you, Professor."

"Don't be shy, Harry," Rita continued as if she hadn't heard him, gliding closer to him like a shark circling its prey. "The wizarding world never gets too much information about their hero." Somehow she'd sidled up alongside him unawares, compelling him back against the wooden door as she winked and cocked her head. "Is it true about you and your old flame reigniting your passions?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Hermione Granger, naturally," oozed Rita, to McGonagall's gaping consternation. "You work together, study together….what else do you do together, hmm?"

"What—_nothing_! And she's not my 'old flame!"

"Oh, come now. Surely a handsome young man like yourself—"

"Ms. Skeeter, this is wholly inappropriate!" snapped Minerva, dragging Harry by the arm out of the other woman's clutches. "Your interview is with Severus Snape. I'd be happy to escort you in." So saying, she went for the door but a panic-stricken Potter jumped in front of her.

Grinning sheepishly he mumbled, "'Spose to be a gentleman." He turned the handle and opened the door barely enough for the reporter to suck in a breath and squeeze through; truth be told, he was sorely tempted to heave the witch inside and boot her bum with his trainer for good measure. The instant she was in, he immediately slammed the door behind her, catching the tail end of Rita's bag and squishing it through with his foot before the door thumped closed.

"Mr. Potter, what is going on?" Minerva propped her hands on her bony hips.

"Nothing…" That pinched expression on her face didn't bode well. "Professor Snape told me not to allow anyone inside," he admitted in a bare murmur.

"Why is that?"

"I don't know," he answered truthfully. Taking a stab at easing her mind he added, "His daughter and Theodore Nott are in there, so I'm pretty sure he's not going to murder Skeeter or anything." Surprisingly enough, McGonagall didn't look relieved, she looked aghast at his suggestion. "I'm just saying Sna—Professor Snape must have a good reason. He probably wants privacy for their talk."

Minerva glared daggers at the door, daring it to keep her out, then she intoned, "Very well. I'll take this up with Severus later." She nodded primly and marched off.

Harry let out a relieved breath. For a brief moment he'd been afraid he'd have to wrestle the witch to keep her at bay, a prospect he didn't at all enjoy contemplating for a variety of reasons, not the least being that she'd be a formidable opponent in a tussle—she may be old, but she was wiry! All he needed was to fail to perform his part in this scheme…he'd never hear the end of it—or alternately, he'd never hear anything ever again because Snape would pop his eardrums with a resounding whack upside the head.

With that in mind he hurried to the corner, picked up his invisibility cloak and arranged it over himself, then hoisted up the camera and leaned against the wall to wait. After all the times he'd worn the cloak, he still found it intriguing that he could see everything clear as a bell as if there were no fabric draped in front of him at all. It would be no trouble to get a perfectly focused, clear picture when the time came.

Meanwhile inside Snape's office, Skeeter yanked her bag through the doorway before it shut abruptly. Her quill hovered in the air ahead of her. "Hello!" she chirped at the surly crowd. Had Snape told her there'd be other people here? She dropped the bag on the floor and flounced over to where they were all seated, hand extended. "A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Snape."

Severus stood and allowed her to shake his hand as he managed a muted variation of his I-despise-you sneer that was a passable imitation of a smile. "I'm most pleased you accepted my invitation," he said smoothly.

Rita had moved on to Jacinta like a lioness gauging the weakest member of the herd. "Why, Miss Mulciber—or is it Snape now? I like to be accurate in my reporting."

"Is that a fact?" interjected Theo, who was seated on the couch beside his girlfriend and opposite Snape. Another empty chair awaited Skeeter. "From all the suppositions and outright falsehoods in your writing, one might infer you were less than impartial or accurate."

"Theo, there's no need to be spiteful," cooed Rita, stopping just short of patting him on the head. He waved her away. "Mr. Snape, what is that lovely aroma?" She bent over the side table and inhaled a deep breath of the fumes coming from the goblet.

"A roach repellent," he replied dryly. "A recent infestation required attention."

"Oh," she gasped, standing up all afluster. Then she plastered the omnipresent smile back on. "It smells heavenly nonetheless. Shall we begin?" She flopped into her seat.

Snape watched the woman with covert amusement. It figured that Skeeter would be drawn to the insecticide, given her secret ability to become a bug. "First of all, I believe you owe my daughter and Mr. Nott apologies for the things you wrote."

"What things exactly?" inquired Skeeter, batting her eyes and looking rather confused and calculating at the same time.

"Embarrassing my family, making me the butt of jokes, causing Antonin Dolohov to try to kill me," recited Jacinta, glaring in a way that did her father proud. "Why couldn't you have left us alone?"

"It's _news_, dearie," Rita said, trying unsuccessfully to look repentant but achieving only smugness. "How often do we find out that our illustrious Potions master has a daughter living with his old lover and her husband?"

"Whose business is it?" demanded Jacinta hotly, then answering her own question roared, "No one's!"

Theo took the girl's hand and pressed it between his own, as much to make sure she didn't assault Skeeter as for moral support. "And you had no right to say what you did about my family, either."

Rita pursed her lips and shot him puppy dog eyes. "Theo, your father was a Death Eater, everyone already knew that. There were posters all over, I didn't propose the idea."

"He wasn't nearly as bad as you made him out!" Theo hissed. "He wasn't violent, diabolical, or cruel, he wasn't one of Voldemort's 'trusted inner circle', and he never taught any of us dark magic!"

"Did I say he did? I merely suggested it was _possible_, given the circumstances—"

"Which brings the circle round to me," drawled Severus, fixing her with a stare that made her squirm. "To put forward or even hint that I would sanction in my school the teaching of dark magic—by a Death Eater, as you so brashly noted—is utterly reprehensible. I take my duties as Headmaster very seriously, Ms. Skeeter, as I also take the welfare of my charges. In addition to apologies all around, I demand a retraction."

Retraction? That was practically tantamount to admitting…alright, it _was_ admitting she'd been wrong. If her loyal readers thought she'd gone soft, it would only be a matter of time before another zealous nitwit usurped her position as lead reporter! No, that was not acceptable. "I'm sorry, I thought you said _retraction_. That's not a viable option, I'm afraid," said Rita, shaking her head vehemently, her curls bobbing.

"Why not?" burst out Jacinta. "You think you're so perfect you never make a mistake?"

Theo chimed in with, "You can't keep writing lies about people and get away with it!"

"Lies?" echoed Rita, her eyes as wide and innocent as she could make them, a hand placed dramatically on her stricken breast.

"Prevarications, fabrications, fibs, distortions," Severus offered, his own innocent face much more believable than hers. "As an ace reporter, no doubt you're familiar with the words."

Rita gasped. "Lying is a serious allegation, Mr. Snape. I don't have to stand for this!" Then, ironically, she stood up. With a toss of her head she snatched her quill from where it hovered in the air furiously scribbling down the conversation. If things went as she'd anticipated, Snape wouldn't be nearly as tough as he presented himself. She could make the best of them crack!

Severus rose from his seat with a conciliatory, "I'm sure we can come to a mutual understanding and agreement. Why don't you step outside for a few minutes while I speak privately with the youngsters and talk some sense to them?"

_Damn, I'm good!_ she chortled to herself. Presenting a distraught countenance to the three, she stuck out her lower lip; she even managed a tear in one eye, though to her annoyance she couldn't get it to fall. "Alright. I'm a reasonable witch, I'm willing to give it another go." Oh, she'd got her voice to tremble just right! Really, she ought to be in theatre!

Conscious of the eyes on her, Rita shuffled to the door, tugged it open, and stepped out into the apparently empty landing above the steps. When the door swung shut behind her, she giggled quietly into her hand as she pressed her ear to the heavy wood. It was too thick to hear anything.

Well, that had never stopped her in the past, had it? Who knew what juicy bits they may be discussing in there that she'd miss if she had to stand here twiddling her thumbs? _They_ had invited _her_, it wasn't right to exclude her. Undaunted by the deceitful aspect of it, a split second later her body was shrinking and becoming rounded. So intent was she on her mission that she took little notice of the clicking sounds off to the side. Stupid castle and its silly noises! When she'd reached her animagus form, a fat black beetle with bright yellow antennae, she crept through the crack under the door right back into Snape's office.

Almost immediately the door burst open and Harry rushed in. "I've got it, Professor! There she goes!" He pointed to the beetle scurrying toward a bookshelf; afraid she might escape, he dove after her making a swipe, but she evaded him behind the leg of the desk.

All at once there were three youths scrambling on the floor searching for the bug, making wild grabs that Rita eluded.

"Get her!"

"She went that way!"

"Don't let her out the door!"

"Freeze!" This time it was Snape. All activity ceased forthwith, except for the beetle scuttling toward the door and freedom. It had just taken flight when Severus raised his wand, aimed it with distinct pleasure, and cast an _immobulus_. The beetle stopped in midair and dropped to the floor with a tiny 'click'.

Skirting the three still on their hands and knees, Severus stalked over, picked up the insect between thumb and forefinger, and peered deeply into its beady eyes. Memories flooded from her mind to his, none of which he was interested in. It was Skeeter, that was all he wanted to know. He carried her back to his desk, rifled through the bottom drawer, and pulled out a small jar into which he plunked the beetle; a quick spell bored tiny holes into the lid, which he then screwed onto the jar. Rita wasn't going to suffocate on his watch. He removed the _immobulus_ and the insect began to bang against the glass in an effort to escape.

He whirled to see the youths all on their feet now, staring in bewilderment. Jacinta asked, "Why doesn't she just change back?"

"Are you sure this is her, Harry?" queried Theo dubiously.

"I—I think so. I saw her go under the door," asserted Harry.

"It is Skeeter. I've looked into her mind," Severus confirmed, setting the jar on his desk. "She hasn't reverted to her true form because she can't. She's trying and it isn't working."

"How can that be?" asked Jacinta, vocalizing what they were all thinking.

"How indeed," replied Severus cryptically, his blank features showing no trace of concern. Inside, he felt an immense sense of satisfaction at a potion well-brewed. "How indeed."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

_Tap, tap, tap._ The clicking on the glass balcony door of the master suite sounded like an owl rapping with its beak. Expecting a messenger owl, Lucius casually turned to the window and promptly lurched backward with a strangled, "Oh!"

Outside floating above the balcony floor, Mateo Malfoy smiled at him, his long canine teeth prominently displayed, his body silhouetted against the light of the full moon, making his short hair gleam like gold. His index finger tapped the glass again. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Lucius stormed over and threw open one of the French doors. "That isn't funny! You nearly gave me heart failure!"

Mateo's feet touched down and he stepped inside, still grinning. "On the contrary, I thought your expression was priceless. Don't be such a stick in the mud." As was his habit, he clasped his great-great-great-to-the-umpteenth nephew into a hard embrace, his pale blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "It's not every day I see Lucius Malfoy lose his oh-so-pureblooded composure."

"I know the spell to kill you, Mateo," growled Lucius.

"And I know a plethora of ways to kill you, dear nephew. What's your point?" Mateo left off squeezing the stuffing out of his relative and his eyes ranged about, taking a long look at the spacious bedroom. Very nice, probably the size of half his house when he was a boy growing up in Spain.

"Since when do you enter people's homes through the upstairs bedroom?" said Lucius, motioning the vampire over to the small table where his cup of tea was getting cold.

"You don't really want me to answer that, do you?" teased Mateo. "I can't count the number of women willing to let me in…until they realize I want a bit of their blood, not what they had in mind."

"Mateo!" snapped Lucius. "We're talking about _my_ house."

"Be more specific next time," smirked the _sangrista_. He shrugged as he remarked, "I was flying over the estate." It was understood that he'd devoted himself to the task of hunting werewolves on the full moons—any werewolves on Malfoy property, to be more exact. "The lights are strong in here and I saw you walk across the room…I couldn't resist."

"Next time, please resist," Lucius quipped, raising the cup to his lips. "I'd offer you a drink, but I'm not in the mood to have my blood siphoned."

At invitation from the wizard, Mateo sat down next to him. "So tell me, has Narcissa had the baby?"

Lucius smiled reflexively at the mention of his child. "Yes, a son. He was born prematurely in January." It gave him a feeling of gratification to see Mateo's display of worry, to know he sincerely cared. "He's healthy and perfect. His name is Ladon Abraxas."

"A fine name," said Mateo softly. Three hundred plus years had softened the blow of losing his son and unborn child when his wife had left him from fear of what he'd become, but a part of him longed to hold his children again. "When might I see the tyke?"

"If he falls true to form, he'll be awake and hungry very soon," replied Lucius, glancing at the clock on the wall. "He's a sweet baby. Not that Draco wasn't, but as you know Draco had a pair of lungs that could wake the dead." He laughed recalling the torments of early fatherhood.

Mateo chuckled along with him. "I do remember. In any event, he's grown into a genteel young man."

"I'm beginning to wonder," admitted Lucius in a subdued tone in case Narcissa happened to come in. "I had a report of him hexing Muggles for fun. Now don't get me wrong, I've done some pretty foul things in my life, but I—I just assumed Draco was above that, that he was…" He shook his head.

"Better than you?"

There was a moment's hesitation. "Yes." Lucius shook his head again and sighed. "I don't know for certain that the report was true, but if it is then Draco lied to me. I really wish I could stop dwelling on it." He sipped at his cold tea.

Recognizing a hint when he heard one, Mateo let the topic drop. He picked up the newspaper that Lucius had evidently been reading. On the front page was a story of two homes that had been burglarized: one Muggleborn, one pureblood. The report noted that probably due to the fact that no one was home in either case, no injuries were reported. Listed were the goods that had been stolen, a list Mateo found puzzling and curious: a bronze shield, two silver teapots, a mismatched group of pewter soldier toys, a marble chess set, a broken knife, an ancient stone statue….

"Did you read this, Lucius?"

"Yes. There have been several such accounts in Britain lately. Some wizards have even been killed, and more things stolen. Some of it is pure rubbish, why anyone would want it is beyond me. I've increased the wards around the property, and added guards."

Mateo's blond eyebrows rose, then dipped into a frown. He'd wondered why Lucius had men standing guard around the house. "The article says there are no suspects, yet it seems glaringly obvious to me. The fierce little bastards hate wizards, they resent them for 'stealing their possessions' and who knows why else."

"Who, Mateo?" asked Lucius, leaning forward in anticipation.

The _sangrista_ stared at him, then clucked his tongue impatiently. "Tsk! Goblins, of course!"


	42. Trouble All Around

Death Eater No More—Chapter Forty-Two (Trouble All Around)

"You think _goblins_ are responsible for the rash of burglaries and murders?" asked Lucius incredulously. Silly little bank slaves capable of such mayhem?

"No, I just said that to be talking out my ass," snapped Mateo. "Did you take note of what was stolen? All of it is metal, stone, or marble. Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't those the things goblins create from?"

"Well…yes," Lucius conceded. "But if they needed items like that, they could make their own."

"I fear I'm going to have to slap some sense into your obtuse skull," groaned Mateo, shaking his own blond head ruefully. "They don't _need_ those things, they _want_ them, and my guess is they want them because goblins made them."

"Bringing us back to the point that if goblins wanted something—" Lucius barely ducked the hand aimed right at his temple, then peeped over the edge of his cup of pitifully cold tea that had sloshed into his lap. Mateo had to have missed on purpose, the _sangrista_ was simply too fast for Lucius to avoid if he intended to hit him.

"Get a clue, Lucius! Goblins made those things; whatever they make, they consider to belong to goblins _forever_. In their twisted little minds, when the original wizard owner dies, the objects in question now revert back to goblin ownership. They believe wizards have stolen all the goblin-made things we consider to be heirlooms and pass down the family line."

Lucius set his cup down on the small table in the event he had to duck and weave some more. That spot of tea on his crotch was most uncomfortable—at least it hadn't been hot! "How do you know so much about them?" As inconspicuously as possible, which was to say not inconspicuous at all, he drew his wand and dried the spot.

"Try living for hundreds of years. You'd be surprised how much you learn," responded the vampire dryly. "I'd say eighty, ninety years ago in Spain there was a rash of grave robberies that were traced to a tiny band of roving goblins. The wizards made short work of them once the wretches were discovered and caught, but it proves that the bastards aren't above stealing and who knows what else."

The horrified, grim look on Lucius' face told all before he began to speak. "There was a brief note, hardly two sentences in the paper weeks ago—a cemetery desecrated in Somerset."

"That's not far from here," said Mateo matter-of-factly, as if Lucius didn't already know that. "It may or may not be them, I'd rather err on the side of caution. Tomorrow night I'll fly back to my cult and bring some friends to guard your home and family cemetery. You have massive cellars beneath the manor, we can sleep there during the day to make sure no one tries to burrow in through the stone."

"I can't ask you to do that," Lucius murmured.

Mateo shrugged and grinned, his eyes remaining somber. "You didn't ask. This is my family's land, you're all my family. I will defend you if necessary." His next sentence sent chills through the ex-Death Eater, primarily because of the implication of what goblins were capable of. "They can't kill _me_."

Lucius felt touched by the _sangrista_'s offer, by his loyalty and devotion that never demanded anything in return. No, not true—the vampire demanded acknowledgment as a Malfoy, as a part of the family he willingly protected…it was no sacrifice at all on Lucius' part to grant him that which he'd have given freely out of the affection he bore for Mateo. Nor would it do any good to refuse the offer, for Lucius felt certain he'd only have to look out the window to glimpse one or more vampires patrolling the estate no matter what he said.

Because there was precious little he could say, he extended a hand to his uncle, clasping the cold flesh in his own warm palm. "Thank you, Mateo."

"You're welcome, nephew. Make sure you notify the authorities in the morning."

"Mateo! How lovely to see you!" Narcissa swept across the room carrying Ladon pressed to her chest, the infant bracing himself upright by handfuls of his mother's hair and peering over her shoulder. Both men jerked their heads in her direction and rose to their feet.

"Narcissa, you look wonderful," said Mateo, bowing to kiss her hand. He lifted up rather more quickly than usual, excited to see the new Malfoy who had fixed the _sangrista_ in his curious gaze. "He's adorable, but I'd expect no less with you two as parents. May I?"

Without hesitation Narcissa transferred the tiny bundle to Mateo's arm, then spent the next minute untangling Ladon's disproportionately strong fingers from her mane while the child gave occasional tugs that made her head wrench wildly to the side. The baby ignored Narcissa's ministrations as he studied Mateo solemnly. In return, Mateo peered down at the child with delight, increased by the knowledge that the boy didn't fear him, even when he smiled with his fangs fully exposed. He stroked the silky cheeks and bow lips, only to find Ladon opening his mouth like a baby bird waiting to be fed; all at once the boy latched onto his finger and began sucking with gusto.

Glancing up in embarrassment, Mateo pulled his hand free quickly. Ladon squealed his displeasure at losing his new plaything. "Sorry, Narcissa. I didn't mean for him to do that."

"He likes it, I don't mind," smiled Narcissa.

"It's just—well, I was holed up in the wood last night and flying tonight. I've had no chance to wash up. I'm not _dirty_, but…"

Lucius chuckled softly as he pulled out his wand to _scourgify_ the _sangrista_'s hands. "I don't know why I bother, to be honest. The urchin will shove globs of mud in his mouth if you don't watch him like a hawk. I'm sure he'll survive your finger."

With Ladon happily slurping and gumming away on the new, cold toy, Mateo paced slowly around the room staring with rapt attention at the sight that made his heart ache for a child of his own. The more years that passed, the more he found himself lonely for the company of a babbling child prattling round the home.

"Mateo, what did you mean when you told Lucius to contact the authorities?" asked Narcissa.

"It's nothing to worry about, love," Lucius interjected smoothly.

Her face puckered into a frown. She hated when he kept things from her. "I wasn't worried until you said that."

"Tell her the truth, Lucius," advised Mateo. "It involves her and Draco and this wee one, too. Doesn't it, little man? Aren't you the cutest baby ever?" he cooed, blissfully unaware of the couple smirking at the savage, werewolf-killing _sangrista_'s baby talk.

Where to begin? Lucius took a deep breath and glanced up. "Honey, there might be a serious problem."

He'd gotten no further before Narcissa's heart was beating in her mouth and her imagination kicked into overdrive. Something was wrong, she should have known it! The authorities were to be involved—what if Lucius was going back to prison? No, no, it couldn't be! Not when everything was finally right! "Lucius, what's happened?" she squeaked.

Years of marriage had attuned the wizard to his wife's emotional state; the expression on her lovely visage right now meant she was crossing the border from concern to fear, which nipped at the heels of hysteria. He took her in his arms, their chests together, hearts thumping as one. "Everything is fine, my love, I swear to you. Mateo is convinced that goblins are behind the break-ins we've heard about, and he wants me to notify the Ministry so they can look into it."

"You're not in trouble?" she whispered into his chest.

"No, Narcissa. However…" He felt her stiffen in his arms. "Mateo has suggested that he and some friends come to guard the mansion until the matter is resolved. If goblins are the culprits, they're after their own artifacts, and Malfoy Manor is full of them." There, he'd told her everything he knew, she couldn't accuse him of keeping secrets or going behind her back.

Narcissa forced herself to calm down. Lucius was right, he wasn't in trouble…if only it hadn't been for all those years of waiting for him to come home from Death Eater meetings, worrying if he was alive or badly hurt! "You think the goblins will attack our home?"

"I hope not, but when all is said and done, I'd feel a lot more secure for you and the kids knowing Mateo is on watch."

Apparently his dear wife shared his sentiments, to his relief. "So would I. Mateo, that's so kind of you. Will Tonia be coming, too? I haven't seen her in ages!"

"Once she hears what's going on, wild horses couldn't keep her away," Mateo answered. He sighed inwardly. Once she got a look at this baby, it might take wild horses to drag her back to Spain!

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

When Minerva entered Severus' office, the first thing she noticed was a strong aroma of vanilla and cedar. The next thing she noticed was the chill coming from the open window; shaking her head at the man's forgetfulness, she traipsed across the room to close it, leaving the door to his office wide open.

"Honestly, one day you'll catch your death of cold," she grumbled under her breath.

"Minerva! What are you doing in here?" The voice, so menacing and unexpected, made her jump nearly out of her shoes. Snape burst into the room wild-eyed.

She turned around with a miffed expression. "I am not one of the students, Severus, I'd appreciate it if you didn't treat me like one. I came looking for you and you obviously weren't here."  
Severus lumbered forward looking stricken, guilty even. _Merlin, no_! She couldn't have avoided inhaling the fumes from the potion, he could still smell them heavily in the air! Perhaps it wasn't a strong enough dose to affect her—but perhaps it was.

"Are you quite alright, Severus? You're looking peaked—that is, more peaked than ordinary." McGonagall scurried over to lay a hand on his brow. When he didn't make a move to crush her hand, she realized something was terribly amiss.

"Minerva, sit down. I—I need to tell you something." So saying, he collapsed into the nearest chair wishing he had a triple shot of firewhiskey to brace his courage. Normally he needed no prop for his courage. Facing the dark lord day in and day out took guts; Voldemort had tortured him many times, it was something he'd always been prepared to accept and endure, it came with the spy territory. This situation was different: he'd most probably caused a grievous permanent injury to a woman he'd come to like…well, not to revile, anyway. And her retribution may well be worse than anything Voldemort had dished out because it would eat at his _soul_.

Sensing something very grave, Minerva perched on the edge of the sofa as she stared at the Potions master. "What's wrong?"

"Don't change into a cat, whatever you do!" he blurted, as if he feared she might take it into her head to transform while they were speaking.

Gobsmacked, she stared all the harder, making him almost frenzied. "Are you threatening me, Severus Snape?" For an unsettling instant she seemed ready to pull out a wooden ruler and lay into him.

"No, I'm warning you that you might not be able to shift back," he choked out.

"And why would that be?"

The full truth at this point would be pure suicide, so he discarded it out of hand. While he was far more skilled in battle, he'd be loath to fight his old teacher. Yet for all the witch's protestations about hating the Dark Arts, he had no doubt she'd make great use of them in this case….damned Gryffindorks were good at that, making exceptions for themselves concerning rules they applied to others.

Lifting the jar clenched in his sweaty fist, he pointed to the black beetle inside. "This is Rita Skeeter, an unregistered animagus. I believe the roach killer I was using before the meeting with Ms. Skeeter may have adversely affected her, making it impossible for her to regain her human form."

"I don't understand. Rita Skeeter is an animagus?"

"Yes. Illegally so," he pointed out. In the event he had to defend himself, this would help a little.

"What on Earth prompted her to shift right in front of you?"

"She did it in the hallway to come and spy on us. Potter saw her and took pictures," he explained. Oh, what the hell, she'd find out soon enough; may as well come out with the whole plot. "If you must know, we planned to trick her into transforming, send the pictures to the authorities, and be rid of the bitch. I, um…hadn't quite counted on her not being able to change back." _And you believe I can't lie to you, Minerva?_

Now it was dawning on the Transfigurations professor, the enormity of what Severus was trying so hard _not_ to tell her: the fumes from the bug killer had affected Rita, an animagus. He had reason to suspect the fumes would affect Minerva in the same manner. If she changed to her cat form, she could become a cat for the rest of her life!

"Severus, this is terrible! What can be done?"

"At present, nothing," he admitted, slumping down in the chair. "I took Rita to Poppy, but she has no idea what to do. She tried anti-transfiguration charms, to no avail." _Stop looking at me like that! You weren't even supposed to come in here!_ "I'll begin studying the roach repellent to see if I can formulate an antidote. It could be a lengthy process, and I can't guarantee a favorable outcome."

To his chagrin, Minerva bent forward and stroked a hand on his arm. _She_ was comforting _him_! It only made him feel doubly more despicable.

"I'm sure you'll do your best, Severus. If anyone can figure it out, you can."

_No pressure there_, he thought glumly. But she was right about one thing, he would do his best. He'd created this mess, it was the least he could do. For Minerva's sake.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

At Durmstrang it was a daily occurrence for the boys—particularly those on the Quidditch team—to practice flying, which for this special group entailed trick flying. Having been one of those elite for four years, Bayly had honed his skills and developed his body to cope with the rigor of it. Unfortunately, at Hogwarts he'd found little time to practice any flying at all, let alone stunts, and his confidence level might have done well to cringe at the varied antics he was busy demonstrating to Gloria as he sailed twenty meters over the Quidditch pitch.

Not so, however. Bayly was a young man, nearly eighteen; he wouldn't dream of breaking that male-oriented cardinal rule which stated a bloke must show off in dangerously idiotic ways for his woman. Never mind that it was a rule seldom broken by lovestruck men, but often regretted. Besides, he wasn't concerned, he'd done these tricks hundreds of times.

He glanced over and smiled broadly at Gloria, who was hovering on her broom at the same height, her short, dark hair whipping in the cold, night March wind. Conscious of her attention, he hoisted his feet onto the broom and gracefully stood up like a surfer on his board. Gliding merrily along at a good clip, he suddenly leaped into the air in a back flip; the broom continued on its way, and as he plunged downward his hands grasped for where the broomstick ought to be. To his detriment, he'd miscalculated the height of the leap or the speed of the broom; one hand missed entirely, the other barely managed to snag the bristles as it shot by.

Gloria screamed in alarm and headed for the youth being dragged across the sky hanging by one hand to the tail end of his broom. She'd not quite reached Bayly before he'd slowed the broom to a halt, laboriously walked his hands over to the handle, then using all the momentum he could muster he swung his body back and forth until he was able to flip up and land astride the broom…aiming backward.

Panting from exertion and a severe adrenalin rush, he barely felt the punch Gloria landed to his arm. "That's for being so blasted stubborn! I told you that one was too dangerous and you ought to quit." She pursed her lips, crossed her arms, and glared at him.

Bayly turned his head her way and started to laugh, more from relief than anything else, which of course Gloria misconstrued and frowned ferociously. If they hadn't been side by side touching thighs she'd have wheeled and flown off. Instead, she was surprised when her boyfriend leaned over and kissed her softly.

"I'm sorry, Gloria, that was a stupid mistake. I need more practice—closer to the ground. What say we take another spin together, then go back to the castle?"

Not yet finished with her snit, Gloria sulked, "I should tell on you for doing that. You could've been killed!"

Bayly hesitated, frozen by her words. He still didn't know what the penalty for a stunt like this would earn him, but was sure it had to be very bad. Never having met Dumbledore, and not having experienced any Headmasters with a tendency to brush aside moronic, perilous things done by students, he couldn't begin to imagine Headmaster Snape ignoring such blatant risk to life and limb, especially when they were out after curfew doing forbidden night flying. "You wouldn't really tell on me, would you?"

"No," Gloria pouted. "But you scared me. What would I do if you'd—"

Bayly reached over and took her hand. "I'll be more careful, I promise. Let's go in, it's late."

He maneuvered around to face forward, chiefly to placate Gloria. He'd been able to fly backward for years, but he'd had a good fright himself and wasn't in the mood to push his luck. Together they descended onto the Quidditch pitch to collect Bayly's cloak, which proved too bulky and got in the way of his tricks. He swung the cloak round himself and mounted up again.

"Did you see that?" asked Bayly, pointing toward the lower tiers of the bleachers. "Something—or somebody—is moving in there."

Gloria studied the area indicated before shrugging. "I don't see anything."

"It's small, smaller than a firstie," he remarked. It seemed to be gone now.

"Maybe an elf," she suggested, fidgeting. It was getting cold and she wanted to go in.

Bayly shot one last probing look before shaking his head. That was no elf, they didn't linger in the cold to spy on humans. At least whoever it was couldn't very well tattle on them since he or she was breaking curfew, too. They flew up to the outside of a corridor leading to the dungeons and dismounted. Gloria tapped four stones in a diamond pattern with her wand and a doorway opened for them, only to close immediately after they entered with a single tap on the frame.

When Bayly had asked her earlier how she knew of this secret passage, she'd casually explained that one of the Weasley twins had taken a fancy to her a few years back and had showed her when they were dating…well, she'd softened the 'dating' part to mere friendship for Bayly's peace of mind, and in truth it wasn't much more, only chaste kissing. It made her sad to think of poor Fred now…

They'd gone no more than a dozen paces when the Slytherin prefect Sammy rounded a corner and came face to face with the startled pair. Sammy stopped in his tracks and they did the same. His eyes drifted over the two, taking in the brooms that seemed oddly out of place down here, for he had no knowledge of the covert passage.

"What are you doing out of your dorm after hours?" demanded Samson.

Gloria and Bayly exchanged desperate glances, neither one having prepared an alibi.

"Taking a walk," said Bayly, feeling like a fool. _That_ was the best he could come up with?

"With your brooms?" inquired the prefect caustically, circling around them now to see if he'd missed something. "In the dungeons?" Sure, it was chilly here, but not cloak-worthy.

Gloria shook her tangled hair off her face and smiled pleasantly. "Come on, Sammy, give us a break. We didn't make any trouble."

"How do I know you weren't up to something?" said the tall, burly boy. "I could find out tomorrow you played a prank on my House, and they'd blame me for not stopping it."

"We didn't, you—" Bayly began in annoyance.

Gloria cut him off before he had a chance to ram a foot in his mouth. "If you find out something happened, you know who to blame, right?"

Sammy thought on it for a minute. He highly doubted Gloria was the type to prank anyone, he'd never heard of her leaning that way. Young, on the other hand, was a hell-raiser from day one. He'd hexed that sixth year Loughlin with a dark curse so badly he was in the hospital for days, and that was his own Housemate! And there was no forgetting the way the jerk had socked Sammy in the face in front of Professor Conn. That alone required redress.

He waved his hand at Gloria, motioning her by. "If you go back to Ravenclaw Tower, I won't deduct any points from you. But I want to talk to _him_." He gestured with a chin thrust at Bayly.

Gloria hesitated. What was there to talk about that he couldn't do in front of her? Seeing her reluctance and not wishing for her to think herself the cause of point deductions, Bayly squeezed her hand. "Go on, I'll be along soon. I'll meet you in the common room."

"Well…alright," she agreed, giving Samson a piercing gaze. She moved off down the hall and around the corner.

Sammy waited till she'd had time to get a good distance off, yet still thought it wise to put up a silencing charm around them in case she doubled back. He pocketed his wand and faced Bayly. "I never said I wouldn't take points off for _you_, Young."

"What do you want?"

The prefect took an ambling step forward as he smiled lopsidedly. "Remember in the Potions lab that day you hit me cuz you thought I was hurting the professor?"

"Yes," answered Bayly warily.

"Well, I told you it wasn't over." Before he'd finished the last word, his fist hurtled around at an astounding speed to catch Bayly on the jaw. The force of the big lad's weight behind it lifted the other boy off his feet and laid him out on the floor, dazed. His broom landed partway down the corridor.

Bayly groaned involuntarily, unable to speak through the throbbing in his face; if his mind were working properly, he'd be pretty sure his jaw was smashed. His head pounded like a jackhammer in his brain from the impact on the unforgiving stones.

"Now we're even," Samson said smugly. He whirled on his heel to go.

He hadn't counted on Bayly's innate Slytherin tendencies, his refusal to let a surprise attack go unavenged regardless of whether it 'evened the score'. Bayly rolled over and lunged forward to grab the prefect's ankle, yanking as hard as he could and jerking the limb out from under him. Sammy slammed down on his knee, which sent shudders of pain all the way up his spine. He kicked back with his other foot, catching Bayly in the chest and sending him skittering onto his rump.

Sammy fell over clutching his knee just as the tenacious Bayly scrambled up, jumped on him, and started whaling away with all the anger, hatred, and frustration he'd kept bottled up concerning his father. A hard heave threw Bayly off onto the floor where Sammy pounced on him, lifted his meaty fist to pummel the smaller boy into a puddle of flesh, then stopped himself in mid-strike.

Bayly's face had taken on a grotesque discoloration and swelling that made Sammy's stomach lurch. "Stop!" he commanded as he gripped Bayly's wrists and pinned them to the floor by his weight alone. The response he got was a wild kick that grazed his head. In one smooth move he lifted his weight, flipped the squirming Bayly onto his stomach, and wrenched one of his wrists up behind his back so hard it elicited a shriek from Bayly. "If you don't want me to break your f—king arm, _quit_!"

Given the limited options, Bayly ceased to struggle. He was in no position to piss off the guy any further.

Sammy didn't let up on the pressure, knowing the pseudo-Ravenclaw would resume the fight as soon as he did. "You got me, I got you, we're even. I'm taking you to the infirmary, you look like shit."

"'At's cuz ya 'roke my jaw, ya dumb f—k!" hissed Bayly, scarcely able to make his mouth work. It didn't help that his face was being pressed into the floor.

"Oh, geez! I didn't mean to," Sammy gushed, dragging the other boy up with him as effortlessly as if he were a doll. There was no mistaking the horrified, apologetic expression on his face, yet he still held Bayly's arm cranked up behind his back. "Swear you won't fight—no wand either—and I'll let you go."

"I shwear," Bayly agreed. He was truly astonished that the Slytherin actually sounded worried. Probably afraid he'd catch hell himself.

Sammy let him go, but tugged at his sleeve. "You have to go to the infirmary. Let's go."

"Aren't ya 'fraid you'll lose yer frefect vadge?" Bayly taunted. He would have laughed at how ridiculous he sounded if it didn't hurt so damn bad. It was decidedly difficult to be a verbal jouster with a speech impediment.

To Bayly's dismay again, Sammy nodded. "Yeah, I guess I am, but I can't leave you like this." He gingerly took a couple of limping steps; Bayly had hurt his knee pretty badly. The torn and bloody pantleg and facial bruises indicated further that this had not been a one-sided fight.

In relative silence they made their way to the infirmary where Madame Pomfrey made a huge fuss over them both. Neither one held any illusions that Snape would be so solicitous when he was informed of their brawl.


	43. Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On

Death Eater No More—Chapter Forty-Three (Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On)

A shattered jaw and a fractured kneecap—not injuries Madame Pomfrey saw every day. She'd bustled about treating the two boys with pain potions, incantations, and good old-fashioned hand manipulation to work the bones back to their correct locations, all the while regarding the pair closely. While she may not be a nosy-body, she easily recognized the signs of a fight; what puzzled her was the fact that the students had come hobbling in together looking like they'd encountered the wrong end of a giant's cudgel, yet they seemed quite subdued, not expressing hostility or antagonism toward one another. Samson admitted they'd been in a fight, yet it made her wonder if there'd been another large brawl in the corridor and these two had not been on opposing sides.

Whatever the case, she'd been duty bound to inform the Headmaster, who likely wouldn't take the news well, but he'd get to the bottom of it. Already today he'd accidentally caused Rita Skeeter to be trapped in her animagus form of a beetle….Poppy smiled wryly to herself. Severus could call it an 'accident' until the cows came home, but she'd never known him to be careless with a potion, nor had she ever heard of a standard potion that could trap an animagus in animal form. To be fair, it _could_ have been a fluke….but she wouldn't bet heavily on that! If she knew Snape, the only thing he hadn't calculated on was Minerva getting into the mix!

"Are you comfortable?" She sidled up to one of the beds and pulled a blanket up around Sammy's shoulders.

"Yes, ma'am," replied the youth somberly. "Do I have to stay here?"

"Yes you do, young man. I'm keeping you until tomorrow so I know that knee won't be walking all over the castle." She turned to Bayly in the next bed and stroked his hair back from his face. Small yellow and green bruises dotted the jawline beneath the bandage holding his jaw closed. "I've set the bones back in place, but that blow did a devastating job. You mustn't talk, and tomorrow I think it'll be healed up enough to go."

Bayly gave her a piteous puppy dog look while Sammy chewed his lip and sank down guiltily against his pillow. Bayly gestured at her in an imitation of writing and Poppy produced a notepad from her apron.

"Oh, silly me, you'll need a quill and ink!" She hurried out, returning with the requisite items. "Here you go."

She set the ink bottle on the nightstand and Bayly dipped the quill to write: _Gloria Livingston is expecting me in the common room at Ravenclaw Tower._

"I already sent word to Professor Flitwick that you're here—and also to Professor Conn. I imagine they'll take care of any business." She stopped short of mentioning that the Heads of House had been asked not to visit their pupils tonight in order to allow them to rest. One should think their wounds were admonition enough, the boys could do without extra lecturing on the evils of brawling, especially when Snape no doubt would lambaste them royally…she dared not tell _him_ to stay away. He'd not been in good humour last time she'd seen him!

Speak of the devil. Severus flung open the door with a crash that would have startled a coma victim, paused dramatically in the doorway to fix his irate orbs on the bedridden lads, and swooped forward like an eagle diving on a defenseless sheep. Samson flinched as the man whooshed in to stand beside him, glaring first at Sammy, then at Bayly, his face devoid of expression.

"Poppy, I see you've taken excellent care of our students."

"Severus, try not to be too hard on them. They are still injured," she responded.

Severus neither rejected nor consented to her request, he simply stared impassively at her until extreme discomfort caused her to turn tail and hurry off. Then he resumed the death glower at the boys. Slowly he raised one arm across his chest, then the other, crossing them. He waited, for _what_ the students couldn't say. Minutes passed.

Unable to endure the nerve racking silence, Sammy blurted, "I'm sorry, sir, it won't happen—"

"Did. I. Say. To. Speak?" hissed Snape.

Sammy shook his head vehemently, his mouth clamped tightly closed. Even if Bayly had full use of his jaw, he'd be disinclined to exercise the right of speech at this moment. More agonizing minutes passed.

At last Severus pushed down the rage to manageable levels that permitted him to reprimand the boys without losing his composure and possibly belting them both across the room for sheer stupidity. "Two upperclassmen fighting like ruffians—hardly a model for the younger children. I believe the last students who did so received a switching or a week as an elf, am I correct?"

Neither youth dared open his mouth, they just nodded vigorously.

"Samson Abbott, seventh year prefect," intoned Snape in a deadpan voice. "As one of my snakes for five years, you were certainly taught better. Your sister Hannah wasn't even Slytherin, nor did she bear the weight of the _example_ a prefect should set, yet she never made trouble, did she?"

"No, sir," Sammy said very quietly. He looked visibly chagrined as well as on the verge of tears. This was it, Snape was going to demand his badge, the one great tribute he'd had bestowed on him at Hogwarts. The other students would mock him, his older sister would gloat, his parents would be mortified.

"As your partner in crime is physically indisposed, I shall rely on you to tell me precisely what happened, Mr. Abbott. Trust me when I say I will know if you're lying."

The young man averted his eyes, not to avoid a Legilimency touch but to hide how close he was to breaking down in sobs. He hadn't meant for any of this to happen, he only wanted to square his honor by punching Young…it wasn't like he went around picking fights. Now he'd be drummed out of the ranks of the prefects and the Headmaster was furious with him and calling him _Mr. Abbott_—he knew how Sammy hated that formality from him.

"Would a sharp slap to the back of the head loosen your tongue?" growled Snape.

Sammy took a deep, calming breath; in a shaky voice he narrated the events. "I—I was patrolling and I saw Young and his girlfriend near the dungeons. They had no reason to be there. I let Gloria go, but I saw my chance to get revenge on Young for hitting me before."

"So you thought breaking his jaw in three places was fitting recompense?"

"No, sir! I only clouted him to show I wasn't gonna take his bullshit," wailed Samson in a higher than normal pitch, oblivious to his use of profanity. "I didn't mean to really hurt him! Then he grabbed my foot and I fell, and we started fighting. That's all," he ended in a near whisper.

Snape's eyes wandered over Samson. He was a very large chap, though not in the habit of pounding on other boys, nearly all of whom were significantly smaller than himself. His lack of experience with striking others could account for his inability to judge how hard he'd truly hit. What struck Severus was the fact that Samson risked so much to assault Bayly over a fairly trivial incident…it seemed odd, out of character.

Next Severus shifted his gaze to Bayly, who appeared to agree with Sammy's story—at any rate, he wasn't agitated or shaking his head or in any way trying to make the point that there existed a discrepancy. The man wasn't deceived by the youth's placid demeanor; beneath Bayly's Ravenclaw affiliation, there ran a strong core of Slytherin disposition that would rally to avenge this attack, and the cycle would go on.

Standing solid and unmoving as a statue, Snape continued to glower over the boys lest they think he'd overcome his wrath. If he allowed the animosity between them to fester, he may as well resign himself to dealing with more skirmishes in the future, and possibly more serious wounds. Severus wasn't one to resign himself gracefully to such a situation, nor to put up with pupils' silly posturing or nonsense.

"It is within the scope of my authority to hand your discipline over to your Heads of House, with the stipulation that they employ corporal punishment."

"No, not that!" exclaimed Sammy frantically, sitting up rigidly, eyes like brown soccer balls. The very thought of Professor Conn, the object of his worship, whipping him like a little boy was too humiliating to bear. "Take my badge, tell my parents, do whatever you want to me, but please not that!"

Severus smirked inwardly, unaware of Samson's sentiments toward the woman. So, Aline Conn must have proven herself to be an ogress! Obviously he'd made a sound choice for Slytherin Head if the pupils feared her this much! "Do not interrupt me again, Mr. Abbott. As I was saying, I have the option to transfer your punishment; however, this predicament calls for stronger measures."

Even Bayly stiffened at that. He'd anticipated a thrashing, but what could be stronger? Was the Headmaster going to use hexes or curses on them? Not even the professors at Durmstrang had done that!

"Mr. Young, there is nothing wrong with your rump, is there?" inquired Snape.

Bayly shook his head in bewilderment.

"Then get off that bed, come round here, and bend over." Severus ignored the horror on both boys' faces. He cast a silencing charm around them all, walked over to pick up the quill off the nightstand, and transfigured it into a leather strap the length of his arm. Purely for effect, he folded it over and snapped it loudly.

Obediently Bayly swung his pajama clad legs over the edge and shuffled over to stand at the foot of the bed as indicated, his legs trembling, his stomach churning. It was no big deal, he reminded himself. He'd been lashed plenty of times at Durmstrang, this wouldn't be any worse—except a wizard he deeply respected and looked up to was the one wielding the instrument. But why was _he_ the only one being punished? Samson started it, he'd only been defending himself! Gritting his teeth at the injustice, he bent down and put his elbows on the bed.

Severus threw back the blanket covering Sammy and forcibly pulled the stout lad to his feet with a good deal of effort that he carefully avoided showing. He shoved the strap into the young man's hand and pushed him toward the foot of the bed. "You wanted to hurt Mr. Young, now is your opportunity. Give him ten licks—and make them sufficiently memorable."

Sammy stood there gulping in alarm, the strap dangling from his hand, his mind in tumult. "I don't want to," he whispered, backing up.

"I didn't ask you what you wanted, did I?" crooned Severus cruelly. "I ordered you to do it. Now _move_!"

Sammy looked into the face of the Headmaster and his stomach quailed. His eyes shifted to Young sprawled over the bed waiting. It wasn't fitting, it wasn't supposed to be like this! "I can't, Professor."

"You _can_ and you _will_," clipped Snape nastily. "Do it!"

"No!" Samson threw the strap on the floor and rounded on Snape, tears running down his cheeks but his voice full of righteous anger. "I won't! _I'm_ the one who started it, I punched him first. I didn't mean to hurt him then, and you can't make me hurt him now! If anybody has to be whipped, it should be me—I'm the prefect, I know better!"

"You're defying me, Samson?"

"Yes, sir. I won't resist if you beat me, but I won't do what you said. It's not right." Sammy wiped at his eyes with his sleeve then glared sullenly at Snape.

Severus merely quirked an eyebrow. "Good. I'd have felt very ashamed of you if you'd done it. I knew when push came to shove you'd show what you're made of."

Both boys gaped at him like he'd lost his mind.

"Bayly, you may go back to bed." Like a shot Bayly lifted up, leaped onto the bed, scuttled to the top, and snuggled into the covers before Snape had a chance to change his mind. "Samson, remember this moment the next time you feel a compulsion to attack another individual. Right now you feel the weight of guilt for harming Mr. Young; how much greater would your remorse be if you'd unintentionally killed him?"

He let the pupils ponder his words as he picked up the strap, altered it to its original form, and set it next to the inkwell. As he spun to go he called over his shoulder, "Starting tomorrow you both have detention with me until further notice. Do _not_ be late." With that he swept out of the room leaving the youths in absolute stunned silence.

Samson gimped back to his bed and sat down heavily facing Bayly. He'd done the right thing, the Professor had said so, yet he felt like a fool. At least Young had the decency not to look at him. He probably thought Sammy was a wussy crybaby. Sammy laid down and pulled the blanket up.

A minute later Bayly reached over to the quill, dipped it in the ink, and wrote on the notepad Pomfrey had given him: _Thanks for not splitting my arse. It took a lot of guts to oppose Snape._ With a gust of breath he sent the paper flitting across the space to land in Sammy's hand.

Sammy read the note and looked over at him in surprise. "I just told the truth. For a second there I thought he was gonna knock me through the floor….besides, he's known me since I was eleven, I think he knew I wouldn't hit you."

_Then why the whole show of ordering you to beat me and scaring the crap out of me?_ Bayly scribbled.

The husky boy shrugged. "To punish us, I guess. He punished you by making you think you were gonna get walloped, and he had me nearly cowed enough to do it, but I couldn't." He blinked a few times. Like a light in the darkness he began to understand Snape's convoluted purpose. Becoming animated he said, "So _that_ was his point! He wanted me to really comprehend deep down that because I'm bigger than most people, I need to be more careful of how I treat them."

_He could've just said so if that's the case_, wrote Bayly, the frown in his eyes conveying a grumbling tone. Seriously, look at the guy—he was a behemoth!

"You think nobody ever told me that?" exclaimed Sammy. "I've been hearing it all my life, and look how much good it did. By forcing the issue like that, Snape made me see that littler people—no offense—are at my mercy. Sometimes it's hard to do the right thing….I can choose to harm them or not to, but I have to live with the consequences I pick." He sighed softly. Snape hadn't been acting like an arsehole, he'd been teaching a lesson, one Sammy wasn't likely to soon forget! "I really am sorry for busting your jaw."

Bayly nodded an acknowledgement then wrote: _I'm sorry for the knee. Truce?_

Breaking into a grin, Sammy held out a hand and Bayly shook it firmly. They could do a whole lot worse than being friends.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

It always gave Mateo a sense of calm completeness to arrive back home. Surely this sentiment had a good deal to do with his beloved wife, yet the very wood and sky seemed to welcome him with the gentle rustling of leaves in the wind and the twinkling of stars in the encompassing darkness. He'd been born in this land, he was a part of it. Even though he'd spoken English all his life, Spain was where his heart lay, with its people and customs and language that had made him who he was.

He flew over the twisted, burned out remains of what had once been Yadiro Buitrago's mansion when he'd been human, before the other humans had sought to kill him for what he'd become through no fault of his own. For all its lonely, forbidding aspect, Mateo enjoyed spending time there, it held a strange aura of peace.

Tonight he didn't stop as he often did, daybreak was too close. He flew up to the edge of the wood, landed softly, and trotted the remaining distance through the trees to the entrance of the underground manor. Reaching down into the underbrush, he lifted the thick metal ring attached to the trap door and scampered down the stone steps into the main chamber, a huge stone room supported by arched wooden beams, lit by torches, and covered in bright tapestries. A large, heavy table ran partway through the room.

As exhausted as he was from the long flight, his spirits soared at the prospect of seeing Tonia. However, propriety dictated he greet Yadiro first, so he collared one of the human servants passing by. From the looks of her, she was new, though the facial features indicated she was probably a Cortes, one of the several families who had loyally served Buitrago for three centuries—and in return had been granted his protection.

_Sangristas_ regularly visited these special families to make sure all was well, and when any of these humans wished to enter the clan, they were brought here by _sangristas_ and lived here during their service; when they got too old to be useful or when they wished to leave for whatever reason, they were let go after being hypnotized to forget the location of the underground mansion and any vampire business they had overheard during their stay.

The young raven-haired woman, eager to please, lifted her chin and smiled encouragingly for him to taste her neck. Fresh bruises and bite marks attested to the fact that several others had already sampled her blood—with her permission, for Yadiro was quite strict on the point that no _sangrista_ was to take unwilling blood, nor unwilling sex. This attractive young thing obviously wished to cement her place on the staff, even if it caused her to faint from blood loss!

"Where's Yadiro?" inquired Mateo, dispensing with chit-chat.

Blond hair, blue eyes, aloof—she knew this! "Oh—oh—you're Mateo!" she shrilled, jumping up and down and clapping at the dawning realization. "I've heard all about you!"

Mateo put a finger to her lips, causing her to settle down into a muted pout. "Where is Yadiro?"

"He went on rounds and didn't come back yesterday," she murmured around his finger.

Mateo withdrew his hand, his brows drawing to a troubled 'v'. Diro went on _rounds_? The leader hardly ever did that, he'd designated the task to his right hand man—that being Mateo, of course. It was Mateo's job to visit the numerous towns within their territory to keep in touch with the _sangristas_ and keep abreast of any problems or concerns. He'd only been gone a few days, why was Buitrago taking over this duty…and why would he not assign it to another if he thought it imperative to receive a report?

"Is Tonia here?"

"Not yet. Are you sure you don't want a drink?" insisted the insipid human.

"Maybe later," muttered the _sangrista_. "When Tonia comes in, send her to our room." He glided past her down the hallway to the cavernous room he'd shared with Tonia since their wedding, relieved that the servant hadn't offered him her body as well. Perhaps her family had informed her that he did not partake in that way.

Flopping like a rag doll onto the end of the bed, he lay back with his feet still touching the floor, eyes closed. If he let himself, he knew he'd fall asleep, but he wanted to see Tonia first, and snuggle with her, and nuzzle her neck as he explored her body…the tiniest of noises in the doorway made him leer. "I've been waiting for you, sweetheart."

There was a sound of hoarse chuckling. "I wasn't aware our relationship had progressed to that level," Yadiro said.

Mateo sat bolt upright, eyes snapped open, mouth agape as he gawped at the forty-something vampire whose thinning black hair fell to the collar of his seventeenth century garment. Definitely NOT Tonia. If he'd been able to, he would have blushed. "Diro, I didn't expect you." Remembering himself, he hurried off the bed to greet the _sangrista_ with a kiss on the hand as a proper show of respect for the leader.

"Why would you not expect me?" Buitrago pulled him into a friendly hug then released him.

"That new servant said you'd gone on rounds."

It was Yadiro's turn to look uncomfortable, a fact Mateo's sharp eyes didn't miss. Diro always looked calm and collected, except perhaps when he was pounding someone to a pulp. He wouldn't leave Mateo out of the loop if there were cult business, so if he was hiding his true intentions, it had to be for personal reasons. Sure enough, he avoided the entire issue. "So how was your trip to Britain?"

"Don't change the subject," Mateo smiled, delighting in the other vampire's discomfort. It was so unusual to find anything personal to tease the leader about, he couldn't let it pass. "You didn't go on rounds, you went to see Florencia, didn't you?"

Yadiro's face pinched tighter and his black eyes seared the younger _sangrista_. Few indeed had the freedom to speak so intimately to the leader, and none would dare take advantage of this position as much as Mateo, his best friend these hundreds of years. "That would be no one's business. What would give you such an idea?"

"Maybe how you don't want to talk about it, or maybe the eyes you were giving her at our last cult meeting," said Mateo, unable to suppress a very Malfoy-esque smirk. He couldn't help noticing these things, could he? And when it involved Yadiro, it was so atypical he'd have to be brain dead not to see it. Before he could reprimand his mischievous nature and bring it under a semblance of control, he blurted, "Diro's got a girlfriend!"

An immaculately manicured hand fringed by a renaissance lace sleeve flashed out and gripped Mateo by his T-shirt and dragged him in close so Yadiro could growl in his ear, "Unless you'd like a refresher course in what it feels like to piss me off, you'll keep your speculations to yourself."

Having experienced on more than one occasion the distress his friend was capable of inflicting with seemingly no effort, Mateo opted for the 'keeping it to himself'…except Tonia. He _had_ to tell Tonia! "Okay, okay!"

Buitrago abruptly let him go. His visage showed no trace of his outburst, nothing but tranquility. "You're back sooner than I anticipated. Is everything alright with your family?"

"Well, not quite. That's why I came back," Mateo answered as he pointedly brushed down and smoothed his shirt, directing accusing looks toward the other vampire. All the while his mind was working. What if Florencia had rebuffed him? That would explain his peevishness! Though tempted to ask, he thought it best not to mention the subject again. "It seems goblins are on the rampage stealing and murdering. I told Lucius I'd come back and bring some _sangristas_ with me to guard the family."

"That isn't our cult's affair," observed Yadiro, stroking his goatee thoughtfully. He'd never personally seen a goblin, but others had. He wondered idly what exactly they looked like.

"Are you forbidding me to take them?"

The elder shook his head slowly. "All my _sangristas_ are free to come and go as they please. You know that, Mateo. I will not order anyone to go with you, but you may ask whomever you please."

Mateo nodded. Naturally Tonia was first on his list. Aside from the fear that she'd rip him to shreds if he didn't invite her, she'd been a fierce werewolf hunter and assassin in her time, no doubt she'd be a glowing asset with the goblins. Though he'd like to enlist those who spoke English, they were few and far between, meaning he and Tonia were going to have to do all necessary translating once they got to Malfoy Manor.

"I have no idea how long we'll be gone, so the recruits need to be willing to stay for the long haul or to drum up replacements if they leave. Do you have any recommendations, Diro?"

"As a matter of fact, I might. Let's go to my study and talk, _sweetheart_." Yadiro broke into laughter as he turned and started down the corridor, his cackles ringing behind him.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Was there anyone thicker than an ex-Order of the Phoenix member? The whole lot of them acted like Muggles with clap…or on crack—well, some stupid Muggle analogy that Lucius wouldn't bother to try to get right, at any rate. Severus didn't count, he'd technically been a Death Eater first, which evidently offered some sort of protection from the idiocy engulfing the rest.

Lucius stamped his cane impatiently on the floor of Kingsley Shacklebolt's office, where he'd been all of seven seconds before determining it was a waste of time. He'd called in three favors and made an unrelated bribe in order to get in to see the Minister right away, and the man seemed frankly disinterested in hearing about goblins. In truth, he'd been downright uncivil.

"Mr. Malfoy, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is doing all it can to determine who is behind these break-ins. Wild speculation only fuels public hysteria." Shacklebolt crossed his legs and waited with a condescending smile lighting his dark skin. Lucius had to admit, the wizard had beautiful teeth. Too bad his taste in flamboyant robes rivaled that moron Dumbledore.

"Minister, certainly you realize I have better things to do than to bother you with baseless accusations. If Runcorn weren't an ignoramus with a vendetta against my entire family, I'd have gone to him." Lucius ran a hand through his free flowing locks, appalled at the tangles created by that damned floo network.

"What exactly makes you suspect _goblins_, of all entities?" asked Shacklebolt.

"Deductive reasoning. Goblins hate wizards, they don't relinquish rights to articles they make, and the list of stolen goods fits in with goblin creations. A thief of any intelligence would have taken objects worth money." Lucius cocked his head imperiously. What did he have to do, draw a picture of one of the hideous little monsters absconding with a sack of loot? Or perhaps hold the man's hand while he guided him through the logic. Honestly, had Shacklebolt been a Gryffindork, too?

"In my experience, goblins are hard working creatures that keep to themselves," he replied. "That hardly implicates a whole race as wizard-hating murderers and burglars."

"In _my_ experience, things are frequently not the way they look to outsiders," retorted Lucius. "My great uncle knows a good deal about goblins. He told me of a band of the wretches many years ago who indulged in grave robbery. Evidently they're not angelic beings."

"I wasn't aware you had any uncles," said Shacklebolt. His tone and the set of his face implied the conviction that Lucius was being disingenuous at best.

"_I_ wasn't aware you had studied my family genealogy," responded Malfoy coldly, smiling only with his lips. "No doubt you've heard about Mateo Malfoy, the—"

"Vampire," Shacklebolt interrupted, leaning forward with substantially more interest. "Yes, he was at that Malfoy ball. You said he suspects goblins?"

_No, he suspects a clique of angry toddlers, you bloody imbecile!_ "I believe that's what I came here to relay," said Lucius, more than a bit miffed. The twat didn't give credence to _him_, yet he was willing to consider the opinions of a man who'd been dead for over three hundred years! Immediately he felt guilty for the slight; Mateo had acquired more knowledge than Lucius could hope to obtain in one lifetime, and he certainly deserved credit for the revelation.

"Alright, Mr. Malfoy, I'll talk to Runcorn and have him look into this new possibility. Thank you for the information."

With another fakily cheery smile, Lucius was dismissed, to his disgust and dismay. Just like that—_dismissed_. A Malfoy shooed out of the office as if he were a mudblood or a pet lizard! He huffed all the way back to the floo, and it took Narcissa the better part of the day to soothe his injured pride. If it weren't for the plausibility of his own manor being targeted, Lucius would gladly have let them stew in their juices with no help from him! When the truth came to light—assuming he'd been correct, of course—Lucius planned to spare no expense in rubbing their noses in the fact that he'd been _right_…and making sure the newspaper accurately reported the same, giving full credit to the Malfoy name. As was only proper.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Draco, Theo, and Jacinta hadn't known Walden Macnair—i.e., Wallace Marshal—would be at the Lestrange property when they apparated in together to visit the Notts. It wasn't _their_ fault he had compiled an arsenal of knives and axes from his days as a Death Eater/slayer of dangerous magical creatures. Or that he'd had years to perfect his craft of throwing and sparring with them. Or that he was renowned as one of the few wizards who was as good at wielding Muggle-type weapons as most were with their wands. Or even that he was busy at that very moment a short way down the hill tossing said weapons at a tree several meters from him.

All of that could be argued in the young people's favor….were it not for that nettlesome detail of racing joyously over to watch him, like children gawking at an exotic animal in the zoo, as he pitched an axe half the size of Draco at a sapling, splitting it in two. There was no doubt in their minds who this man was despite the surgery that had changed his appearance.

"Nice shot, Wal—lace," Rodolphus crowed, slapping him on the back. Getting used to the new name would take some time. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of movement and whirled with his wand at ready.

The three teens halted in their tracks.

"It's just us, Uncle Rodolphus," said Draco, unmoving.

The wizard lowered his wand and smiled. "A little early for your lesson, aren't you?"

"Malfoys are prompt," smirked the youth. Visiting the Notts didn't seem nearly as interesting as this! "Theo and Jacinta want to train, too. Would that be alright?"

Rodolphus casually shrugged one shoulder. "I don't see why not. Macnair—_Marshal_—damn, I've got to get that name down! Marshal, you want to help out?"

The other man turned fully around to regard the three looking hopefully at him, a heavy long-handled tool gripped in his strong fist. "Sure, why not? You want to learn some hand to hand with axes?"

Jacinta nodded eagerly while Theo gauged the razor-sharp instruments with caution. Draco drawled boldly, "I'm up for a challenge."

For the next hour Macnair/Marshal instructed the trio on how to hold, balance, and throw various sizes of axes, allowing ample practice for the three to become a bit fatigued with the effort. Had he stopped at that level of instruction, there may not have been any uproar at all, but sadly Macnair had never been the brightest scale on the dragon.

When Lucius showed up for his scheduled practice with Draco and Rodolphus, he found his eldest son lugging an axe so large he could barely lift it to his shoulder in an attempt to attack Macnair, who held a similar sized instrument and was laughing as he blocked Draco's pitiful blow.

The next instant the axe handle in Draco's grip shattered, the blade sailed end over end into the wood beyond them, and all the startled eyes turned up the hill at a very irate Lucius Malfoy, his pale complexion literally white with fury.

(to be continued next chapter…)


	44. Chapter 44

Death Eater No More—Chapter Forty-Four

The head of the axe spun wildly into the wood and struck a tree trunk with a thump, followed closely by the rustling of underbrush as it fell to the ground amid the unnaturally eerie silence. Everyone's eyes were glued to the figure up the hill whose alabaster face contorted in a piqued rage contrasted starkly with his dark grey robes, making him appear sickly.

Rodolphus eased backward slowly away from the others as if to disassociate himself from the group. Even though he was certain Lucius had seen him, he may not have _taken notice_ of him, and it just seemed the smart thing to do when Malfoy got in a mood. After all, if he was pissed at Macnair—_Marshal_—then that was precisely _not_ where Rodolphus ought to be. Not that he was afraid of enraged Lucius, per se, but they had been good friends for a long time, it would be a shame to ruin it with dueling and death and such unpleasant things.

"What the hell, Malfoy!" Marshal boomed in his deep, as yet unaltered voice. "That was one of my favorite axes!"

As if remembering they were holding them, Jacinta and Theo at the same moment chucked their axes on the grass in front of them.

"How dare you," hissed Lucius. The ominous sound carried to the bottom of the hill and swirled around the listeners; all three teens shuddered. The man's wand was still aimed at Marshal. "I made it very clear that no training of Draco is to take place unless I am present, and what do I find? A bloodthirsty hoodlum in the process of trying to murder my son!" A rainbow of sparks shot from the end of his wand.

"Hey, that's not fair," Marshal whined. "Nobody told _me_ the kid needed permission." His own long axe sat blade-down on the grass where he rested a hand on the hilt.

Rodolphus stepped further back as he surreptitiously grasped for his wand. Now that he thought of it, he did recall vaguely musing that Lucius would shit a brick if he knew…

In one of the least intelligent moves Draco had ever made, he piped up in a voice holding defiance along with conviction, "I'm of age, Father, I don't need permission."  
A single furious glance full of woes to come from his father made him duck his head and slink over to his friends, who seemed none too eager to be lumped into the glower.

In the blink of an eye Lucius disapparated and apparated next to Marshal, his wand jabbing painfully into the man's cheek, his eyes coldly blank save for the bubbling ire, his voice controlled and smooth as velvet. "I helped you escape the aurors, I helped you get a new face so you could have a life again, and this is how you repay me—sneaking behind my back to practice a brutal sport that Draco is wholly unprepared for, one that could gravely injure or kill him in a single blow, and you don't see the disparity in that?"

Marshal shrugged lightly, not moving from his spot lest it be the last thing he ever did. How could he have forgotten how attached Malfoy was to his kid? He cleared his throat with a nervous laugh. "Well, when you put it that way it seems kind of….um…."

"Ungrateful?" prompted Lucius. "Witless?"

"I didn't mean to act ungrateful," protested Marshal hotly. "You did a lot for me, I owe you big. I would never hurt your kid!"

"Not on purpose, perhaps, but as you may have noticed Draco is not a hulking man like yourself; he's not capable of sparring on equal footing with you. Is it inconceivable that I should expect you to use common sense or—heaven forbid—good judgment?"

The other wizard's eyes flicked over to where Draco stood huddled with Theo and Jacinta. True, the boy was puny—in fact, all three of the teenagers were right scrawny. There was no way he could seriously expect them to put up any kind of decent defense against himself. "Sorry, Lucius, I didn't mean any harm. I guess I didn't think it through."

From his reaction it might appear Lucius hadn't heard him; the wand remained firmly in Macnair's cheek as he addressed his son. "Draco, what have you got to say for yourself? And if you belabor the point that you are 'of age' one more time, you may find my cane belaboring your backside."

Cheeks tinged from embarrassment, Draco avoided the pitying looks of his friends. "We didn't go behind your back on purpose, Father. We came to visit and Macnair—"

"_Marshal_," interrupted Marshal. He clamped his mouth shut when Lucius twisted the wand and pushed a bit harder.

"I mean _Marshal_ was practicing. We didn't think it would hurt anything."

"As my son, I expect you to exhibit a higher level of mental acuity than Macnair," snapped Lucius, noting the large man's desire to correct him and taking perverse satisfaction from the fact that he dared not do so. "If you have no regard for your own safety, you might think of your mother. If I had to carry your maimed or lifeless body back to her, she'd have a breakdown!" So would he, though he'd _avada kedavra_ himself in the head before admitting it in front of all these people, and the very notion that something of the sort could have occurred made him want to slap the boy for his lackadaisical attitude.

"Our other training is dangerous, too," countered the youth. "I could get killed."

"Which is precisely why I ought to be here to protect you if necessary," Lucius growled. "And unless you're foolish enough to forget _protego_, you have the ability to block a spell. How do you propose to block an axe chop?"

Draco hesitated only a moment. "Uncle Rodolphus is here. He'd protect me."

Rodolphus chanced one more tiny pace back; a twig snapped under his foot, the effect magnified by the silence all around. _Damn—it—all—to—hell! Thanks a lot for dragging me into this, you twit_, Lestrange moaned inwardly as Lucius' attention shifted to him. Should he launch a preemptive defense or wait for Malfoy to pitch a hissy fit in his direction? His dilemma was solved for him when the wizard's grey eyes narrowed at him.

"Yes, Rodolphus, pray tell what _were_ you thinking?" Lucius purred. His wand dropped off Marshal's cheek and casually swung in Lestrange's direction—not exactly pointed at him, but that could be easily remedied by a minor adjustment. It moved about threateningly as he gesticulated. "I've entrusted my son to you in the past, yet you stood here blithely watching him get pummeled by this thug. And don't claim you were prepared to defend Draco—you didn't even have your bloody wand out!"

"I don't deny that," said Rodolphus in his habitually calm voice. He fingered the tip of his wand in his pocket. "But you're overreacting, Lucius. I've been here the whole time, and mostly the kids were just tossing weapons at the trees."

"I do not 'overreact'. I saw what I saw," insisted Lucius obstinately. What did it matter what the kids did before trying to get themselves slain?

Rodolphus gave a smirking grin that Lucius recognized from their childhood as his I'm-the-oldest, I-know-better face. "Marshal and Draco had just started sparring, they were only doing simple blocks. Draco isn't a baby, he can handle that."

"Thank you for that glowing assessment of his talent, but I'd prefer to be the judge of it myself," Lucius drawled in return.

"You know me, Lucius. If I thought Draco was in any peril, I'd deal with it." Rodolphus' dark stare landed on the other. His method of 'dealing with' situations tended to be permanent.

To the great relief of Marshal, Lucius nodded as he replaced his wand in his cane. He'd known Roddy most of his life, Lestrange wasn't one to stand idly by if a friend or loved one was in trouble. Now that he'd heard the full story, it didn't seem nearly as bad as it had initially looked, though he had no intention of admitting any such thing to the youngsters. They also didn't need to know his anger had dissipated, they might get the idea he was a pushover.

Lucius turned to cast an imperious glare at the teenagers. "You brats go in the house, we adults need to talk." Not wishing to incite the blond demon again, the three bolted up the hill toward the house. Once they were gone Lucius remarked dryly, "Snape would have seizures if he caught Jacinta out here."

"You came pretty close to convulsions yourself," Rodolphus replied, smirking again.

"It's not every day I come across my son behaving like Macnair," snipped Lucius defensively.

"I don't see why the kids shouldn't learn to fight," Marshal interjected. "It builds up the body and it's fun."

Lucius rolled his eyes. Apparently their ideas of 'fun' differed greatly. "I have no objection to Draco throwing weapons at a target; I strongly forbid you or anyone else to throw them at _him_. If and when he trains with axes or knives, I will be here. That is not negotiable. Does that clarify the situation, or do I need to use my wand for real next time?"

Marshal gave a grudging assent as Rodolphus murmured an indistinct grunt.

"Marshal, I spoke to Snape about your voice. He sent this potion for certain rare intestinal parasites…it has the side effect of warping vocal cords slightly, which alters the tone." Lucius produced a small vial from his breast pocket and held it out.

"Nah, that's okay," answered Marshal. "I think I look different enough that even if somebody who knows me heard me talk, they'd think it was another wizard."

"It wasn't a request," said Lucius. Somehow his wand had found its way back into his free hand. "If you are identified at all, my life will be affected greatly. Drink one swallow. Now."

Marshal grimaced and scowled, to no avail. At last he snatched the vial, uncorked it, and took a sip of the green liquid. Immediately his scowl was replaced by dry heaves. Lucius and Rodolphus stepped back a bit just in case.

"You—son of—a bitch," Marshal choked out between gags.

"This is perfectly normal, you'll be fine in a minute," Lucius said, much less consoling than he could have been. "The effects will be evident within a day or two. Don't worry, you won't get a high pitch—if anything, it's likely to be lower, more gravelly."

Rodolphus picked the vial from Marshal's hand and looked at it in the light. He delicately plucked the cork from the man's other hand and stopped the bottle. "In case Rabby and I decide to change our appearances, this could come in handy," he explained to Lucius, who nodded his understanding.

"Roddy, shall we fetch your brother and get started on Draco's lesson?"

"You do know the other kids want to train now," Rodolphus said slowly, watching Lucius for a reaction. "With Nott and Macnair—_Marshal_—we could train all three. What do you say?"

"I say we'd better get started or we'll be here all night." With that, he apparated himself to the training field. There was no way around it now, he'd have to tell Severus about this….hopefully it would encourage him to take part in the lessons himself rather than fly off the handle in a rage. Tough call.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

The instant Severus walked into the Potions lab he noticed something amiss. Well, not technically _amiss_…more along the lines of 'different'. He didn't like 'different'. The tables hadn't moved, the temperature was decidedly frigid—perfectly normal…but something was off. With a start he recognized what it was. Where were all his prized specimens he'd pickled and exhibited in jars all around the room?

He huffed loudly as his head swiveled in search of the bottled animals. It had taken him years to collect those rare and unusual creatures, then to arrange them to their best advantage! How dare that woman not only take it upon herself to rearrange the lot, but to remove them entirely! He had worked himself into quite a dither by the time Aline strolled in.

"Headmaster, you're early." She walked up to her desk and set down a load of supplies she'd brought from the locked closet down the hall.

"Where are they?" demanded Snape, dispensing with small talk.

"Who?"

"My specimens! You've secreted them away, what have you done with them?"

For a second Aline looked puzzled, then her face relaxed. "Oh, those. The jars didn't match."

Snape had expected something a bit more creative, a little less strange. "What?"

"The. Jars. Didn't. Match," said Aline, enunciating carefully. She knew her accent threw some people off, but Professor Snape hadn't been confounded by it in the past; perhaps he was in need of a hearing aid. "I had to get new ones, it was driving me to distraction."

Severus blinked several times before saying, "Tell me now and save us both a lot of trouble: are you insane?"

"That depends on who you ask," smiled Aline, plopping herself on the edge of the furniture and crossing her legs. "I'm transferring the specimens into a matching set of display jars; the tops don't come off if they fall, and the glass is nearly unbreakable. I plan to arrange them by phylum or size, I haven't decided."

"More rumblings of anal compulsions…" grumbled Snape.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I've seen your desk!" snapped Severus nastily, ticking off the list on his fingers. "Amber, Apple, Cobalt, Crimson, Ebony, Emerald, Lemon, Mandarin, Plum, Raven, Ruby, and Turquoise—_nobody_ alphabetizes their inks by color name!"

"Apparently _someone_ does," retorted Aline, miffed at his ridicule and the fact that he'd invaded her desk drawers. "And you forgot Pumpkin and Fuchsia."

Tempted as he was to childishly mimic her last words, Severus merely crossed his arms and settled into a pout—a sulk—an _adult_ sulk. "You've heard, I'm sure, that Samson and Bayly were fighting."

"I was notified. Samson will be duly punished," she said through her own version of an adult sulk.

"From what I gather you'd enjoy that, but it won't be necessary. I've given detention to both boys. As a matter of fact, they'll be working here with me." _Ha! Got you there, didn't I?_ A sly sneer spread over his features at her surprise. "I'll be working on a special potion, so I expect you to keep your students away from that table." He gestured with an abrupt tilt of his head at the right back table; his greasy hair slapped into his face and he shook it off impatiently.

"Would that be, perchance, an antidote for the potion that changed Rita Skeeter to a beetle?" asked Aline sweetly through a forced smile.

"She changed herself," Severus corrected, lifting his chin a notch. "She is simply unable to revert back."

"Odd thing, those roach repellents," mused Aline, studying the ceiling. "Harry tells me it smelled quite nice, like vanilla and cedar. I've yet to come across a bug formula with a vanilla scent, and I used to date an exterminator." Her gaze lowered to the Headmaster, and the accusing, suspicious aura was unmistakable.

Unruffled, Severus glared back at her. "Are you intimating something?"

"I was, but let me spell it out for you to make sure there's no misunderstanding. Did you sabotage your own potion?" she said, meeting his glare.

"You're the soothsayer, you tell me," crooned Snape.

For the first time—that is, the first time in several weeks—Aline felt the urge to whip out her wand and wipe that snarky smugness off his face. The gall of him to call her a _soothsayer_! Even if it weren't blatantly insulting by the way he said it, it was wholly inaccurate since she did not forecast the future, she caught glimpses of the past and present.

But no, aside from the fact that he was an accomplished dueler and would pose a stout challenge (her own dueling aptitude being advanced, she hesitated to _assume_ she'd lose), she decided to take the high road. They'd achieve nothing by being at each other's throats.

"Professor Snape, a Potions master of your prodigious skill and talent could not possibly have mixed up the ingredients or made such an amateurish mistake. The only alternative is that you did it deliberately."

Severus was poised to verbally lambaste her when he realized she had referred to him as immensely skilled and talented, which was undeniably true, yet for some reason it gave him a warm sensation in his chest…must be wearing his heavy outer robe without noticing. Come to think of it, it did seem to have gotten rather warm in here. "Miss Conn, Rita Skeeter was—is—an unregistered animagus. Were she not trapped in her beetle form, she would be occupying a secure space in Azkaban. I dare say being in a jar on my desk is no worse."

Aline had seen the photos of Rita's transformation in the _Daily Prophet_, no doubt Snape was right. However, it didn't explain everything, specifically _why_ Rita was still a beetle…and why in the world Snape kept her on his desk! That was just creepy! "So are you admitting you caused her 'difficulty'?"

"I admit nothing," said the wizard smoothly. "As I stated earlier, I will be working on a formula to reverse the _inadvertent_ damage to Ms. Skeeter. I request your cooperation in keeping your students from blundering into it and destroying my work."

"I'll try my best to keep the little beasts away," Aline returned, rolling her eyes and shaking her head at his paranoia. The children had better things to do than risk life and health by messing around with the Headmaster's brews. Nonetheless, the project intrigued her—purely on a professional level, naturally. Casually she remarked, "If you needed someone to look after the potion when you're not here, I suppose I could do it if I happen to be in the room." No point in going out on a limb and offering to sit up all night with it.

Startled by the overture, Severus cocked his head to think. She probably wanted to study the potion, to figure out whether he'd been responsible for Skeeter's condition…and if she knew, who would she tell? Was it possible she was actually interested without ulterior motives? She was, after all, a Potions mistress—and a fine one, though it made his head throb to even think it, and he'd gouge out his own tongue with a spoon before telling her so.

"We'll see, Miss Conn." His traitorous mouth worked overtime trying to shove out the following unfamiliar words, managing only several false starts before, "Thank you for the offer." He spun about and fled before his treacherous body betrayed him completely and he started spouting other maudlin tripe. Merlin's ghost, what was next—asking her to _help_ him with the potion?

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

It was a dark, stormy night (okay, no it wasn't, but I couldn't resist quoting the old cliché!). It was, however, night—black as tar, moonless, with a wispy cloud covering that suggested a warm day to follow. The air held the chill commonly associated with late night in March, and the creatures that clustered round the open grave shivered in turns from the cold air on their sweaty bodies, their clawed hands caked with remnants of the semi-frozen earth.

"_Siti er et, Karnak,_" (There it is, Karnak), growled a goblin with an unusually large nose even for goblins. His dirt encrusted finger pointed past the broken stone marker into the grave at a smooth-topped surface. Evidently it was of recent origin, for no sign of wood was present.

The one named Karnak peered into the hole and smiled craftily, his sharp teeth like tiny daggers. "_Nepoti kaer bon—neht putig nirb._" (Bring it up—no, break it open.)

Two goblins leaped back into the pit, landing with a thump on the box. One of them drew a hefty knife from the back of his trouser waistband, raised it over his head with both hands, and plunged it down hard. The enchanted goblin steel cut through the fiberglass like butter.

He carved a large rough square in the coffin and pried it loose. The other goblin slithered in through the opening without any concern for the rotting corpse in his way, rooted around, and poked his ugly bulbous head back up through the hole brandishing a fistful of jewelry. He then scrambled and clawed his way up the side of dirt to flop on the bank with his legs dangling over the edge. Holding up a thin gold necklace bearing a cross for all to see, he studied it briefly before snarling and flinging it back into the grave where it clinked dully.

One by one he sorted the rings, earrings, bracelets, hairpins, and necklaces…quite a haul from a single grave, yet he tossed most of them right back in and spat on them. He finally held up a ring and a bronze choker. "_Sniam ertaht lasisit."_ (This is all that's left.)

"_Lat emet ets awote mahsati_," (It's a shame to waste the metal), complained one who'd been squatting patiently at the graveside. He looked over at Karnak, who nodded once. The goblin hopped down to collect the discarded jewelry.

"_Tite gehd luo swy!"_ (Why should he get it!) howled the one who'd hacked into the coffin. The instant his comrade popped up topside he tackled him to the ground.

"_Eki laerah sliw ew! Fune sitat,"_ (That's enough! We share equally), barked Karnak. He kicked one of the goblins and the other scurried to safety. Before he could pursue his subordinate, another goblin came bounding across the cemetery, the dark posing no challenge to his goblin eyes; short like the rest, he was swarthy and sported a beard.

"Where have you been, Griphook?" demanded the one in charge, switching to human-speak.

Grinning excitedly, Griphook exclaimed to Karnak, "I've been to Hogwarts. If we time it right, we can break in, I'm sure of it! The Mirror of Erised will be back in goblin hands where it belongs!"

Karnak smiled shrewdly, calculating the possibilities. The Mirror of Erised had been made by goblin hands and—unbeknownst to the filthy wizards—deliberately charmed for humans to waste away in front of it. On goblins its effect was wholly different: it could foretell the future. With this powerful object in their possession, they had the potential for great things, great things indeed…and if they happened to take back the multitude of other articles that rightfully belonged to goblins at the same time, all the better.


	45. Blood Banks and Cinemas

Death Eater No More—Chapter Forty-Five (Blood Banks and Cinemas)

Snape arrived at the Potions lab purposely late in order to make a dramatic entrance for the two youths on detention, and God help them if they weren't there to see it! He'd hex off their limbs, despoil their skin with boils, do all manner of evil….a satisfying thought, but sadly not permissible. He would, however, bury them so deep in writing essays they wouldn't dig their way out till doomsday—assuming their quill-afflicted fingers were capable of digging!

Swooshing the door open with a wandless wave of his hand, he paraded in with his back stiff, his face impassive, and his standard black robe billowing bat-like around his thin frame. Merlin, how he loved to do that!

"I see you've managed to stumble here without killing each other," he observed dryly.

Samson and Bayly, who'd been sitting at the furthest back table across the aisle from the table already loaded with supplies and a cauldron, jumped to their feet and exchanged wordless, panicked glances. Were they supposed to say something to that? If so, what could they say that wouldn't sound cheeky? The professor didn't look in a good mood, though that was subjective; he never looked in a good mood.

The Headmaster marched over to the table with the cauldron. He'd evidently interrupted whatever idle chatter had been passing between the boys. He took that as a positive sign: they were behaving civilly towards one another. Stopping in front of the cauldron, Snape withdrew a rolled scroll from his sleeve and very slowly unfurled it, more for show than anything. He'd memorized the entire formula the previous night as he brooded over his task, he could recite it in his sleep…and he wasn't entirely sure he hadn't been doing so when he woke this morning.

"Bayly, I need one quarter cup of crushed, seeded juniper berries. Take them to that table out of my way. Samson, the cohosh root must be cut into one-inch cubes." He waited as the young men collected the supplies they would need and moved to the other table with nothing more than respectful phrases of compliance.

Then Severus frowned down into the cauldron, so meticulously cleaned that it reflected his ill humor back at him in a copper haze. The whole thing was a phenomenal waste of time, it was never going to work—it wasn't _intended_ to work. The alteration of his roach repellent had been a deliberate trick to entrap Skeeter, he'd had no plans of ever actually creating an antidote, but he had to pacify the Ministry with a show of feverishly searching for the cure. The idea would make him laugh hysterically…if he weren't completely pissed off at wasting his evenings like this.

On the other hand there was Minerva, who'd also inhaled the fumes. There was simply no way to tell if she'd been affected. Frankly, he was tempted to ignore her altogether, were it not for that vexing guilt tapping at his skull like a house elf building shelves in his brain. If he had harmed her, he had to make things right. Eventually he'd have to study his original formula and come up with a real antidote, but that could take weeks of intense work…he'd prefer for now to take things easy.

Severus was so absorbed in his own thoughts he didn't notice the boys over at the next table talking in low tones. Their stay in the hospital and Snape's 'discipline' scare had created in them a sort of bond, and they found they actually rather liked each other's company.

"My older sister loves Herbology. Too bad she's not here, I'll bet she'd enjoy this," Sammy was saying. His knife sliced the root at precise intervals. "My O.W.L.S. weren't good enough to get into the advanced classes of Potions or Herbology, but I didn't much like them anyway."

"I love Potions," responded Bayly, pushing down hard on the wooden block that oozed the purplish guts of the berries under its edges. "It's is my favorite class—even though I like Snape's class a lot, too," he amended quickly in case the man had ears like a bat in addition to looking like one.

Sammy's voice lowered to a near whisper. "Do you know Neville Longbottom? He's helping out Professor Sprout."

"I've seen him around a few times," said Bayly curiously. "I think Hagrid said Neville is trying to teach him Herbology."

"My sister fancies him!" chuckled the burly lad. "When she heard he was back at Hogwarts _she_ wanted to come back, too."

Snape's irritatingly bland voice interrupted them once again. "As important as this bit of gossip surely is, I believe you students have better things to do, such as what you were _told_."

"I'm almost finished, sir," answered Bayly. With a spatula he began to scoop up the squishy mess into a measuring cup.

Sammy didn't reply at all. His attention had become riveted on Aline as she entered and waved to the boys, at the same time putting a finger to her lips to indicate they shouldn't speak to her. She glided to her desk, pulled open the bottom drawer, and removed a stack of essays. Then she opened the top drawer to select an ink and quill for grading them. "I'll take these to my quarters, Professor Snape. I don't want to bother you."

If he hadn't known better, Severus would think she was being sarcastic, but why would she be? The siren—er, wench—grasped at opportunities to bother him as if it were a favorite hobby! Wait a minute—that would mean she _was_ being sarcastic! Why wasn't an appropriately nasty response leaping into his mind? His wits seemed to have retreated momentarily, leaving him vulnerable and defenseless. He drew his robe tighter about him to cover the sensation of being naked.

By the time he geared up for a Snape-worthy snarky retort, she'd breezed right back out the door, leaving his glance to settle on the youths…why was Samson ogling Miss Conn like a prize unicorn? For heaven's sake, he'd be lucky if his eyes didn't pop right out of his head and follow her down the hall! From the depths of his soul he experienced an indisputably illogical desire to slap the boy silly.

"What are you doing?" Severus growled, stepping closer.

Samson jerked his head back to the chore at hand. "You told me to chop these—"

"_Why_ were your eyes protruding from your skull—and at a teacher, no less?" demanded Snape, feeling surprisingly unhypocritical for doing the same thing.

"She's—I—uh—sorry, sir," Sammy stammered, hastily ducking his head and resuming chopping briskly. The sound of the knife clicking on the granite echoed in the tomb-like room. _Mental note: Snape doesn't approve of students staring at the teachers, probably thinks it's_ _disrespectful_. He could sense Snape's malevolent presence behind him, and he braced himself for a cuff to the back of the skull. He'd known the man to do it on occasion with his Slytherins when he was Head of House.

"I'd best not catch you doing it again," said Severus softly. He'd have to keep an eye on that little deviant.

Moving back to his own table reduced the tension only marginally. One might interpret Snape's tone as more than a bit menacing, and Sammy would have preferred a smack to the head instead of an ominous warning.

"No, sir—I mean yes, sir—I mean, whatever you say," agreed Sammy, dicing wildly. By this point he'd basically reduced the root to a useless pulp, but he didn't notice. All he knew was he'd have to be more discreet when appreciating his—the woman or Snape might do terrible things to him. He'd rather not find out what kind of things.

Bayly bit his lip to keep from smiling too broadly. Professor Snape and Professor Conn? It was—well, insane! They argued constantly….and yet, the Headmaster's reaction didn't so much resemble the action of scolding a pupil for inappropriate behavior as it resembled the old fashioned jealousy of a man on account of a woman. He wondered if Miss Conn felt the same way and wisely decided not to ask. He'd probably best keep his mouth shut about the whole thing. Professor Snape was definitely _not_ in a good mood.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

For this being Harry's first time chaperoning the students to Hogsmeade, things had gone pretty well….right up until he lost Luna and Floyd. The rest of the pupils were trooping back to Hogwarts behind Professor Flitwick—or in front of him, as the case may be, his tiny stride unable to match their longer legs. Only two were unaccounted for, but even one missing student was too many.

Harry had advised Flitwick to go on ahead, he'd canvass the town again, asking shopkeepers, poking in shrubs if need be. He hoped it wouldn't come to that! He wasn't worried, really; Luna and Floyd were of age, responsible, and most likely together. They'd probably just lost track of time. As he wandered back down the street, he tried to think of where they might be.

No one had seen them recently, so they hadn't been in the candy shop or the ice cream shop or the joke shop or even the Hog's Head. He knew some of the older boys who liked to go there to act tough, and they hadn't seen the missing couple. It also ruled out any restaurants or pubs, since other students had been there. Luna was 'unique', what was a unique place to go?

A crooked grin crossed his face and he took off at a trot, waving to people who recognized him, swerving down couples sauntering down the street. He turned left down a little-used lane, then veered right into a dead end where directly ahead stood an ancient, miniscule, colonial style cottage that seemed held together with matchsticks and magic. Its front was lined by a tall hedge that overshadowed a good deal of the house (and probably helped hold it up); its original magenta paint had faded to a chipped pink over the years, its windows so dirty they looked to be grey panels. A washed out sign hanging precariously over the door read: _Magical Antiques and Rarities_.

Harry strode up the sidewalk and reached for the doorknob when he heard a rustling in the shrub beside the door. Looking over, he spied a blond head pressed up against the wall and a dark head earnestly exploring the delights of liplocking. Harry cleared his throat.

Luna and Floyd looked over at the same instant. Unabashed, Luna smiled contentedly. "Hello, Harry. I didn't know you were interested in antiques."

"I'm not. It's time to go back to Hogwarts, everyone else has already left while you were here playing kissy face," said Harry, feeling rather uncomfortable. As a friend, he didn't care what Luna did…as a teacher, he thought he _ought_ to care. Now he understood another reasons teachers were usually significantly older than their students!

"You and Ginny snog all the time," returned Luna in an innocent voice. That habitually distant expression in her eyes settled over him.

"We don't do it in public!" Harry protested, flushing to the roots of his tousled hair.

"It wasn't public until you showed up," Luna pointed out.

Floyd took Luna's hand and led her onto the sidewalk. "I guess we have to go back. Sorry if we caused you any trouble."

Out of the blue a snappy jazz tune started up. Harry whirled around searching for the source, only to end up staring at Luna's placid countenance. "Luna, are you…"

The young woman hitched a thumb in an armhole of the colorfully striped—to put it kindly—vest she wore over her blouse. "I bought this vest—do you like it? It plays music according to the wearer's mood."

"It's certainly….distinctive," hedged Harry, motioning for them to come along. He'd really hate to have Snape notified that two of the students had gone missing on his watch, he'd never hear the end of it. Even now he could see the headmaster sneering as he went on about Potter's irresponsibility. _What's wrong, Potter? Lost something, have you? It wouldn't be that tiny bean you call a brain, would it?_

As they walked along they chatted about people they knew, school, life since the war. By the time they entered Hogwarts grounds, dusk was beginning to fall and Luna's vest had broken into a funeral dirge.

"I don't like dusk," she explained simply, then her face brightened. "But I love nighttime." The music switched to something remarkably like the boogie woogie.

"Whas' that now?" boomed Hagrid's voice as he rounded the school right into their path. "One of yeh's turned to music? Right purty."

"It's just my vest, Hagrid," beamed Luna.

"Oh, an' a stunnin' piece of clothin' it is," said the giant admiringly. "Hey, Harry! Hey there, Floyd! How's them flyin' lessons comin'?" He thumped the boy on the back playfully.

Familiar by now with Hagrid's friendly slaps, Floyd had scooted away before the worst of it struck. "I'm doing a lot better, thanks. I'm still flying at head height, but I can go for a long time and landing is easy now. How about you?"

"Tha' Bayly's a good teacher, I reckon. Once I got the basics, it ain't so hard a-tall."

"Hagrid," said Harry, pointing at the instrument the huge man had flung over his shoulder. "What are you doing with a shovel?"

"Oh, this?" Hagrid swung it down, nearly clipping Floyd in the chin, but the boy did an impressive backbend to avoid injury. The blade of the tool nearly equaled the size of Harry's torso. He tapped it soundly against the ground to remove chunks of fresh earth. "Jus' fillin' in a couple o' tunnel holes I found. Big 'uns, big enough fer that nasty snake Nagini. Can't figger what's makin' 'em."

"Maybe it's a giant mole," suggested Luna in all sincerity. "I've heard they're in cahoots with gophers and merpeople to flood Hogwarts."

All three of the men gave her a very odd look which she didn't seem to mind. People looked at her that way so often it would be strange _not_ to experience it.

Harry turned to Hagrid. "Have you told Professor Snape about the holes?"

"Nah, don't see no point in botherin' him over a critter. Likely I'll catch the animal an' set 'im free somewheres else," replied Hagrid. "Well, I'm off. Got one more ter fill—'less I find another on the way." With a nod of his hairy head he lumbered off.

Harry trailed behind the couple holding hands, his brows knit thoughtfully. Whatever animal was making holes that large may pose a hazard to the students, especially if Hagrid couldn't even guess what it was. Despite his affection for Hagrid, he realized the giant didn't have the best common sense skills in the world, and at the risk of enduring ridicule, he'd have to inform Snape.

All year long he'd tried very hard to be cheerful and cooperative with Snape now that they were…friendly, for lack of a better word, yet he'd only been met with sarcasm and disdain. Maybe that was all Snape was capable of anymore—or maybe he just needed another trip to the Weasleys' to open him up. Somewhere in there had to be a good-humored bloke! He grimaced to himself but held firm. _Be brave, Harry. He won't bite your head off. Probably._

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

The _sangristas_ had come to Malfoy Manor as promised—in fact, there were more than Lucius had projected in his wildest dreams, a dozen in total. It posed no problem in the way of lodging, for the cellars stretched the entire length of the mansion, and the vampires demanded nothing fancy. Mateo would have accepted the bare floor, which hardly seemed fitting thanks for those who had come to guard his property and life! Lucius had outfitted the place with lavish beds for all; lamps were unnecessary, what with their ability to see in the dark. Anything they required would be supplied at the asking.

Evening had fallen and most of the group had taken to patrolling the grounds while a few stayed in the cellars in the event of a burrowing attack. Mateo and Tonia took the opportunity to visit with their hosts for a bit before joining their cult members. They sat in a semi-circle around the fire in the front parlor, Tonia happily rocking a sleepy Ladon in her arms, his miniature fist twisted in a lock of her long, wavy brown hair.

Narcissa motioned to the elf waiting patiently in the corner. "Cinchona, bring us the drinks we discussed earlier." Her lips quirked in a secretive smile.

"Yes, Mistress Malfoy," squeaked the elf before popping out. Mere moments later she was hobbling among them carrying a large tray with two goblets of red wine and two goblets of a thick red liquid which she offered to the vampires.

Mateo cocked his head skeptically, smiling in bemusement. He'd never in all his years of visiting been offered a drink here! "You know we don't ingest human food, Narcissa."

"It's human _blood_," exclaimed Narcissa, practically giggling in her glee. "I hope it's warm enough."

By now Lucius was more curious than the _sangristas_, and more surprised. As delicately as he could manage he asked calmly, "Sweetheart, where did you get _blood_?" _Dear Lord, please don't let my wife have gone mad and had_ _someone drained_!

"I used a few of our connections, dear." She smiled sweetly at him.

This wasn't boding well—connections might mean ex-Death Eaters who would revel in the chance to murder! The Lestranges or Macnair would do it in a heartbeat if she asked! He inquired hesitantly, "Such as?"

Blithely unaware of her husband's wild postulations, she went on, "They acquired it from a Muggle facility that takes donations from volunteers. As of this morning, we have one hundred pints of blood stored in a freezing chamber in the pantry," replied Narcissa proudly, sipping her wine and basking in the confounded yet delighted—and surprisingly relieved—face of her beloved. "It's only proper to provide nourishment for our guests."

"You are quite right, love. I should have thought of it." Lucius lifted her hand to his lips, pressing urgently and lovingly. _Thank you, thank you, she's not insane!_ Not that he really, seriously thought she was….

"It is more than we anticipated," said Tonia in her lilting accent. "It is very kind of you."

"We expected to hunt for our own," Mateo concurred, very pleased indeed at this outcome. A dozen _sangristas_ looking for willing victims in an area fairly close to Malfoy Manor might have raised questions and posed some hardship, especially if any vampires native to the area confronted them. He'd drunk blood from human banks before, and while it wasn't as satisfying as drinking from a host, it would sustain them all for several weeks. "Thank you, Narcissa." He raised his glass to toast her and took a sip. A bit chilly for his taste, but he didn't want to complain.

Narcissa peered at her drowsy son, his head resting on Tonia's arm, his little body vibrating with his breathy snores. "I should put him to bed."

"May I carry him?" implored Tonia, rising smoothly to her feet. When the other woman nodded and smiled, she glided behind Narcissa with her feet only inches off the floor, the child cradled protectively.

They had scarcely left the room when an excited Sisidy bounded in. "Master Malfoy, Mrs. Goyle is wanting to see you! She is being very upset!"

"Bring her in, Sisidy."

The elf bounced away and returned with a dowdy, middle-aged woman built like a Sherman tank; she was dragging her son by the earlobe as he shrieked protests at the jerked movements. Mrs. Goyle smiled tightly at Lucius and gave Mateo a hard once-over stare before returning her attention to the master of the house.

"Mr. Malfoy, I thought you should know what your son is up to," she stated in a harsh, angry tone. "He came to my home with Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott to see if Gregory wanted to join them. Fortunately Gregory was waiting for Pansy and said 'no', but I overheard enough to get me suspicious."

Lucius thought that as a good host he ought to ask the woman to sit down, but with the way she was clutching the young man in her grip it might be awkward for both of them. Whatever had transpired to get her dander up must have been grave, yet he couldn't imagine that Draco was involved in anything so dreadful as the woman was melodramatically claiming.

For some reason the youth's resemblance to his father struck Lucius and he fought not to chuckle at the image of this shrew holding her husband by the earlobe when he was alive. Forcing himself to wipe away such pictures, he said, "Why don't you inform me of what's happened. I'm sure it isn't so terrible."

"Don't be so sure," she growled, giving her son a shake that elicited another muffled cry. "Tell him, Gregory." When the youth obstinately refused to say a word, she took out her wand and zapped him in the rear end with a stinging hex that made him yelp. "I had to use a bunch of those, had to welt his bum good to make him talk. Now you tell Mr. Malfoy!"

Face red from humiliation and pain, Gregory mumbled, "They went to see a Muggle movie."

Perplexed, Lucius asked, "A Muggle moving what?"

"Movie," repeated Mateo quietly. He'd watched films before, he enjoyed doing Muggle things. He failed to see what the fuss was all about, though he was acquainted enough with pureblood prejudice to understand their hatred and fear of all things Muggle. "It's like watching a live play in a theatre, except you see images on a screen."

Lucius, who'd glanced over at him during the explanation, shifted back to the Goyles. "And Draco went to this _movie_ thing voluntarily?"

"Yes, sir."

"You'll really like this, Mr. Malfoy—tell him about 'playing Muggle', Gregory," ordered the large woman, her voice dripping with disgust. At his sullen refusal she twisted his ear and sent another stinging hex. It made Lucius wince to witness it, having experienced the dubious joy of ear-pulling as a boy, and having felt the stinging hex a few times as well; if performed with enough vigor, it felt like a belt cracked across his rump. Abraxas Malfoy had been a very _vigorous_ man….

"Mum, just quit," entreated the younger Goyle through his clenched jaw. The second her wand aimed again he piped up, "Playin' Muggle is when we dress up like _them_ an' hang around in one of their neighborhoods. We go in stores an' steal stuff, see who can get the best loot."

It took a full minute for Lucius to let this soak into his horrified mind, while Mrs. Goyle waited with her son's ear gripped in her fingers. _Draco_ was willingly masquerading as a _Muggle_? He was _shoplifting_? Either he was having an extraordinarily bad nightmare, or there was some mistake. He had not brought up his son that way, it was beyond belief or even comprehension.

Slowly Lucius inquired, "And you maintain that Draco has participated in this perverse game?"

"Yes, sir, loads of times," Gregory replied, not looking up from the floor. A few more pokes and prods caused him to add, "Him and Zabini were hexin' Muggles for fun in a park, too. I didn't—nor Nott, either, he wasn't even there." The last he snarled with a glare at his mum, challenging her to punish him for that. She did not.

It took all of Lucius' many years of practiced control to keep his emotional response in check when he firmly desired to fly into a rage at the aberrant conduct of his offspring. Draco had _lied_ to his family about where he was on who knew how many occasions; he'd _lied_ to Lucius' face about hexing the Muggles; he'd been _stealing_ on a regular basis—from Muggles or not, it was despicable, thoroughly un-pureblood behavior; he'd attacked Muggles in _public_….what the bloody hell had gotten into him?

Through gritted teeth he asked, "Do you know where Draco is?"

Gregory nodded. "If it's the same place as before."

"Gregory will take you," Mrs. Goyle announced. "I'll be at Mrs. Zabini's house letting her in on this whole silly game the boys are playing." She let go of her son with a warning glower that made him wilt even further. "I'm sorry to ruin your evening, Mr. Malfoy."

Lucius stood up and extended a hand, which she shook. "Thank you for coming by. I am truly appalled to learn what my son has been doing."

Sisidy accompanied Mrs. Goyle to the front door, leaving the other three in awkward silence. Mateo wished he could defend Draco, but how could he? Lucius had every right to be furious, Draco's comportment was inexcusable.

"Would you like me to go with you?" he asked Lucius.

Poised to decline his uncle's offer, Lucius unexpectedly nodded. Mateo was undoubtedly more familiar with Muggle areas and _movie_ places than he was. "Gregory, can you apparate us both?"

"Yes, sir," answered the young man proudly. Maybe he wasn't so smart with books, but he was good at magic that required action.

The three silently headed out the door after Lucius gave instruction to the elf to let Narcissa know he'd be back soon. Once on the porch, Goyle took Lucius and Mateo each by the arm and apparated them into an alley around the side of a large red brick building. When they walked to the front, the traffic and noise and bright lights startled Lucius, who tended to assiduously avoid anything Muggle. His face pulled tight in a frown.

On the marquee above the wide glass doors, encircled by flashing bulbs, were numerous names, presumably film titles. Goyle pointed at the top. "They were gonna see _Armageddon_. That's what Zabini said."

Mateo approached the ticket booth up front, smiled pleasantly at the employee, and met her eyes with his. That was all it took. "I've already paid for two tickets to _Armageddon_. Give them to me."

Under his hypnotic spell, the girl gave a dopey smile, printed the required stubs, and handed them through the hole under the glass barrier. "Enjoy the show!"

"Gregory, you may go if you wish," Lucius murmured. If he'd been in Goyle's place, he wouldn't want to be spotted as the traitor tattletale who got his friends in trouble. There was nothing useful he could do anyway.

Goyle sent him a relieved grin and bolted for the side of the building; he disappeared around the corner and was gone. Together Lucius and Mateo entered the lobby that smelled of popcorn and butter and whose bold red and yellow paint positively screamed 'gaudy'. Mateo glanced at the tickets, then up at the signs directing the way to each theatre.

Mateo's appearance—blue jeans, T-shirt, cropped hair—raised no eyebrows, unlike his companion whose long, free flowing locks and high-necked tunic robe were subject to odd scrutiny by passers-by. Mateo hurried him along the corridor and dragged the discombobulated man inside the door to their film.

It was pitch black save for rows of dim lights run along the floor and light from the enormous screen that Lucius drew to an abrupt halt to gape at in consternation. His eyes ranged up and down the humongous thing…he'd never seen or even imagined such gigantic pictures of lifelike, moving humans and cities and strange Muggle contraptions; the sight both awed and appalled him, terrified him on some level. A ghastly loud sound accompanying the pictures blasted his ears pitilessly.

At that precise moment a meteorite heading for Shanghai hurtled toward the audience. Lucius reflexively drew his wand from his pocket and flung himself against the wall, ducking and trying to get a bead on the image that moved and shifted and disappeared with the magic of film.

Mateo clapped him on the shoulder and leaned in close to his ear, chuckling. "It's only make-believe, Lucius. It can't hurt you."

Lucius gradually stood up straight, brushing down his robes in embarrassment. He'd touched that filthy, sticky floor with his _hand_! "I knew that. I was just—oh, shut up!" he snapped at Mateo's good-natured chortles. He huffed and turned to study the crowd.

It was simply too dark for Lucius to make out anyone, all he could see were a bunch of amorphous black blobs. Mateo did not suffer from this human limitation; his pale eyes scanned the room as if it were sunlit and halted midway down the center block. He elbowed his nephew in the side and pointed. "There they are."

Lucius squinted in the general direction. "Where?"

"How fortunate—Draco is in the aisle seat. We won't have to stumble over everyone to reach them," said Mateo matter-of-factly.

Taking the wizard by the arm as if leading a blind man, he guided Lucius round the back and down the aisle, and came to a stop beside Draco. The boy turned his head casually at catching sight of someone near him. His mind registered before his eyes, and he did a doubletake and nearly wet himself. Having your vampire uncle show up in a movie theatre he didn't know you were at was never a good omen! He started to stand up, saw his father, and dropped back into his seat to hyperventilate.

"Get outta the f—king way!" someone hissed.

"Bugger off!" Mateo shot back.

Lucius stepped up and snatched his son's arm, yanking him right out of his chair. "Let's go," he growled, gesturing with an angry flick of his wrist to Blaise and Theo, whose horrified saucer eyes looked like they were witnessing a murder. They rose like zombies and with half the theatre watching he marched the boys up the aisle and out the door. He didn't stop till they were in the alley where the whole abysmal episode had begun. "Turn out your pockets," he ordered.

At this point in the game none of the boys dared cross the raging dragon. Nott pulled out a small toy shaped vaguely like a puppy that squeaked when it was squeezed, a gift he'd planned for his young sister. Numbly he dropped it into Lucius' upturned palm. In like manner Zabini deposited a souvenir London keychain and a half-melted chocolate bar. Draco's shaking hand held out a cheap pair of hoop earrings. Lucius slapped them to the ground.

"I suppose next you'll be wearing them?" he sneered, taking a step closer as Draco flinched and blanched. "This rubbish is the best you can do when you're busy thieving for your stupid little game?"

"No…I mean, I won't wear them," whispered Draco over the heart pounding in his throat. How did Father know? "I'm sorry."

"You will be," Lucius spat. "Go home with Mateo, we'll discuss this when I get there. Blaise, I believe your mother is expecting you—she'll want a word, no doubt. Theo, you're coming with me to speak to your parents. I'm so ashamed of the lot of you I can't bear to look at you."

Because there really wasn't much he could say, Mateo latched onto Draco's shoulder in a firm grip that was sure to leave a bruise. "We'll see you at the manor, Lucius."

Draco said nothing at all. He cast one last pitiful glance at his father before heading for home. With any luck he'd figure out a way to talk himself out of this mess…but he wasn't feeling very lucky.


	46. Crime and Punishment

Death Eater No More—Chapter Forty-Six (Crime and Punishment)

Theodore Nott looked smaller and younger than his actual statistics as he sat meekly in the middle of the cramped bedroom at the Lestrange house, head bowed, dark hair falling over his eyes as if to shield him from the wrath to come. The traits that caused him to be wiry and thin now made him look vulnerable, childlike; he peeked up hopefully at his mother, whose brown eyes so like his own flashed in vexation. He would find no refuge there.

When Lucius had finished detailing the accusations against the youth, his parents were rendered speechless. They'd left Malfoy downstairs with their young daughter as they marched Theo upstairs where Fidelia paced up and down the floor in front of her son, throwing her hands out in wild gesticulations unaccompanied by the plethora of expletives and admonishments swirling in her mind. Udo stood solidly in front of the boy, arms crossed, jaw clenched.

A hush spread over the room, broken only by the clicking of Fidelia's shoes on the wood. Emboldened by the lack of action so far, Theo murmured, "I wasn't even there that day they attacked the Muggles."

The elder Nott pounced. "Are you calling Mr. Malfoy a liar?"

"No, dad…he's mistaken," Theo said weakly. "I was with Jacinta."

"Speaking of Jacinta," barked Fidelia, whirling on him, "Your father and I happen to think she's a fine girl. You claim to care for her? How dare you insult her with your sick game! Is it her fault her father is half Muggle? Severus is one of the most powerful wizards I ever met!"

"No, mum, I wasn't insulting her," pleaded the young man.

"Does she see it that way?" demanded the woman, stomping over to confront her son, her full lips pressed into a thin line. "If Jack Mulciber or Severus Snape found out what you've been doing, they'd forbid you to step foot near her ever again! They'd probably hex you besides! Is that what you want?" she finished shrilly.

"No! I didn't mean—"

"Your mother asked you a question!" bellowed Nott, causing Theo to flinch. "Does Jacinta approve of your Muggle playing game?"

Theo shook his head, biting his lip and staring down at the floor. "She doesn't like it…I told her I wouldn't do it anymore. She doesn't know I was there tonight."

"So you lied to her. What if she found out? Are you willing to lose her over a ridiculous game of robbing a bunch of Muggles? My son, the thief! You make us so proud," continued his father, snarling in derisive fury.

Jack Mulciber had been Udo's best friend since they were toddlers; Snape had been a roommate and friend for many years, and in Nott's mind Snape was as good as pureblood even if he was _technically_ tainted. Along that line, Jacinta was also pureblood for all intents and purposes. He'd like nothing better than to unite their families in marriage, which would never happen if things continued on this course thanks to his idiot son! He thought it ironic that _he_, who had been ribbed all his life for being less clever than others, was the one to realize there was more to intelligence than book learning and school.

Fidelia jumped in where Udo had left off. "Do you think she'd even want you if she knew you mocked her parentage and lied to her?"

Theo's eyes had been expanding in leaps and bounds by the second, and now they filled with desperate tears. It was just a game, the dressing up, the nicking of baubles….he'd never considered that Jacinta could be offended enough to break up with him, and it made his stomach so sick the bile rushed into his throat. "No—don't tell her!"

He started to stand up; his father shoved him back down into the rickety wooden chair with one push in the chest, then began to lecture as he shook his finger in the lad's face. "I can put up with a lot of shit, son. I can take the dressing up and the fraternizing with our inferiors because it makes the family look 'tolerant' for the bloody Ministry. But when you behave no better than a filthy Muggle or mudblood—_stealing_, for Merlin's sake—that tears it!"

"We should never have let you stay in the house by yourself," Fidelia interjected, resuming her pacing. "We obviously can't leave you alone."  
"It had nothing to do with being alone," Theo muttered.

"Do _not_ sass your mother," warned Udo.

"I'm not trying to, dad. I meant that me and Blaise started this game a year and a half ago when we all lived together," explained Theo quietly. As expected, that revelation set off a whole new round of yelling….

Downstairs, Lucius had parked himself in an armchair, leaned back, and closed his eyes. He dreaded going home to confront his own son—not that he could if he wanted to yet. Fidelia had asked him to sit with their five-year-old daughter while they talked to Theo, and that child was at this very moment circling him, sizing him up like a vulture.

At last she sidled up to him and blurted, "Hi, I'm Missy. You look like Draco, only older. And your hair is long."

Lucius cracked his eyes open and replied drolly, "I'm Draco's father. You've seen me several times before." Poor child: darling little thing with perfect features, curly brown hair and dark eyes….sadly, she appeared to have inherited her parents' wit…or lack thereof.

Undaunted, she continued buzzing around him. "Mummy and daddy are really mad, huh?"

"From the intensity of their shouting, I must agree." Would a silencing charm have been too much to ask for?

"Theo's gonna get it," predicted the tot.

"Yes, I imagine he will." Lucius tapped his foot impatiently.

Missy grinned up at him, tugging on his robe lest his attention stray. "Daddy says I'm his princess cuz he gots three boys and only one princess. That's me."

"I believe you mentioned that already."

His sarcasm flew right over her head. Now that she'd got warmed up, it was full steam ahead with scarcely time for breaths, her little face as earnest as could be. "An' I never make daddy mad, so he never spanks me. Sometimes he spanks the boys cuz they're bad, not like me. Theo says you hit Draco with your cane. Where's your cane? Do you need it to walk? I don't think you walk funny. Peter and Elliot are at Beauxbatons now, but they used to go to Hogwarts. Mummy went to Beauxbatons and daddy went to Hogwarts. Did you go to Hogwarts?"

What was that delightful sound assailing his ears? Why, it was _silence_! Astonishingly, the imp had stopped chattering. Lucius peered at her in surprise. "Oh, you want me to actually answer that? Yes, I attended Hogwarts."

"Wanna play with my dollies?"

"No, thank you."

The girl ran out of the room, leaving Lucius to sigh with relief, forgetting the basic rule that nothing comes so easily. Sure enough, his elation was short-lived, for she returned carrying an armload of nude dolls that she unceremoniously dumped on the floor in front of him. Amid the pile of various colored hairpieces and twisted limbs, a few of the figures were moving.

Missy dug through the pile, tossing aside her 'friends' willy nilly, and picked out a mangled doll no larger than Lucius' palm; it had a stubby body with tufts of red hair raging in all directions…it reminded him oddly of Molly Weasley. Missy thrust it into his lap.

"That's Bessie, I gotted her when I was a baby." She wiggled a larger blond doll whose hair had been chopped off in the kind of gruesome haircut only a child was capable of giving. "This is Wynona. Hi, Bessie," she cooed, pitching her voice strangely.

"Oh, dear Lord," Lucius moaned, rolling his eyes. If anyone saw him like this….

From upstairs the rhythmic sound of leather repeatedly slapping a rump wafted down into the living room. It wouldn't be much longer till he was free to escape this maddening ninny.

"Isn't that precious? Lucius Malfoy plays with dolls," Rabastan teased. He shut the front door as Lucius lobbed the toy onto the floor, blushing.

"I wasn't _playing_, I'm being held hostage by this loquacious urchin," he retorted in his own defense.

"I often have that problem myself, little girls capturing me without a weapon," Rabastan laughed, enjoying Lucius' discomfort.

"Uncle Rabby, here's your Lori doll," announced Missy, pressing a tall, voluptuous brunette into his hand. She gave Lucius a knowing nod as she explained, "Uncle Rabby always uses Lori. Uncle Dolph uses this one." She held up yet another scalped figure, this one missing an eye.

Lucius cocked an eyebrow at his companion. "You were saying?"

Rabastan gave a sheepish grin. "You try living with a five-year-old girl and see what happens. At least my doll is prettier than yours."

"A troll would be prettier than mine," observed Lucius in a drawl. "Where's your brother?"

"At the old castle. We've been trying to break the wards the dark lord put over the underground level—remember Bella told him it was there?" Rabastan moved over and flopped in the chair beside Lucius. "Dolph did manage to take down one barrier, so there's hope."

"I wish you luck, but if you don't mind I need to depart," said Lucius, rising to his feet. "I'll leave the little princess in your capable hands." As he walked out the door he smirked to see Rabastan kneeling beside the girl, affecting a woman's voice with the doll in his hand and laughing with Missy. It was nice to see him truly happy for a change.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

When Lucius entered Malfoy Manor, he apparated straight to Draco's room where he was certain the boy would be waiting. He couldn't deal with Narcissa right now, with the way she'd cajole and manipulate to get him to go easy on their son. No doubt Mateo had filled her in on everything he knew, and surely she'd be vexed and appalled at Draco, yet she'd always pleaded for leniency. Out of love for his wife and son, he'd generally granted that leniency.

Not today. Enough was enough, he'd prefer to have done with it, then use his charming personality to wiggle his way out of the doghouse with Narcissa. Standing outside his son's door, he snapped his fingers for his cane, which flew out of his room, down the hall, and into his hand. Steeling himself, he turned the knob and entered, closed the door behind him, and sent a silencing spell around the room.

Draco slid off the edge of the bed where he'd been sitting, to stand anxiously waiting for his father to take the lead. He'd changed out of the Muggle clothing and now wore light grey robes that matched his eyes perfectly. The wizard's cold stare and the cane in his grasp unnerved the boy; he felt a compulsion to say _something_. "Mother already yelled at me…so, I guess you won't need to?"

No answer, not so much as a blink. How the hell did he do that?

The youth tried again. "There was a bloke in the film who looked like you, Father."

"Insulting me is not beneficial to your cause, son," replied the man curtly.

It had got him to talk, that was some progress. "No, I'm serious. He looked exactly like you! Well, not the hair, but the face," insisted Draco. It wasn't working, his sire still looked livid.

"Let's get this over, shall we?" suggested Lucius through pinched lips. "I'd rather not prolong your retribution for disgracing and humiliating the family name by thieving like a common guttersnipe, among other things."

Draco's mind was whirling like a cyclone but nothing of value was being shaken out. As much as he loathed what was about to occur, he'd pretty much resigned himself to it before his father had even got here, so he turned toward his bed. Nonetheless, he couldn't resist some act of defiance, no matter how small. "I'll submit to your discipline because you're my father and it's the pureblood way—_not_ because you're right." He bent forward, sinking his elbows into the thick, deep purple comforter, and braced himself.

Lucius took three steps forward to position himself and drew the cane back for a mighty stroke. The cane hovered momentarily in the air, then he lowered it with a 'thunk' onto the carpet. "What do you mean 'I'm not right'?"

If he weren't afraid the man would see it, Draco would have smirked. He raised up and turned to face Lucius. "_You_ were the one who said we had to change, we had to ingratiate ourselves with the rest of wizarding society by acting nice to mudbloods and Muggles. What's wrong with my mingling?"

_A Malfoy to the core, go down fighting_, Lucius thought with a bit of pride that managed to slip past his ire. "If all you had done was dress as a Muggle and go to this _movie_, I would be shocked but I wouldn't punish you for it."

Draco wanted to hope this was a good sign, till he saw the wrath slide back into place on his father's countenance, his grey eyes glinting like burnished steel.

"Precisely how were your actions designed to gain acceptance among our peers, Draco?" asked Lucius in an obviously rhetorical manner since he continued to speak without a break. "By sneaking around in Muggle society without anyone of consequence aware of your benign intent? And would this _benign intent_ include afflicting said Muggles with stinging hexes? Yes, I know you lied to me about that. Or perhaps you were showing good will by pilfering articles to endear yourself to the Muggles. Do tell."

Lucius' raised eyebrow was the only sign of expression on his face, his voice oozing the condescending disdain usually reserved for those he deemed unworthy of himself.

There existed no way to answer all those charges both adequately and truthfully, and they both knew it. Tacitly admitting defeat, Draco sullenly threw himself back over the bed. "Never mind."

Without further ado Lucius lifted the cane again and brought it down sharply across Draco's upturned rump with a _thwack_, followed immediately by a muffled grunt into the bedcovers.

"Doing magic in front (_whack_) of Muggles and _on_ (_whack_) Muggles is hardly (_whack_) the way to get on the good side (_whack_) of the Ministry. (_whack_) I specifically asked you (_whack_) if you had taken part (_whack_) in hexing those Muggles (_whack_) and you lied to my face!" (_whack_) This blow was deliberately harder than the previous ones, and Draco lurched forward and let out a strangled yelp that eclipsed the outcries from each former strike.

"To top it off (_whack_) you have the gall (_whack_) to disgrace our family by stealing! (_whack_) Have you no shame (_whack_), no pride?" (_whack_) Lucius lowered the cane, his breathing heavy from exertion and anger. "Answer me!"

With his eyes leaking from the searing pain making his rear end throb, his fists clenching the comforter in a death grip, Draco muttered spitefully, "It was no worse than you!"

"What is that supposed to mean?" came the eerily calm voice.

Through gritted teeth the young man spat out, "All my life I tried to be like you; now that I am, you don't approve. Stinging hexes are no worse than what you and your Death Eater friends did to those Muggles at the Quidditch World Cup a few years ago!" He broke off panting and dropped his face into the coverlet to wipe the unbidden tears.

Taken aback by his son's accusation, Lucius paused. Draco had a point, he had done many things in his past that were cruel, even criminal, most—but not all—on command of the dark lord. For all of it, he had paid in spades….

Quietly he said, "I'm not too proud to confess to you that I've done things I'm ashamed of, Draco. I haven't always been a proper role model for you, which I deeply regret. Spend a year in Azkaban at the mercy of your enemies, and you will never look at torture in the same way, I assure you. I can't change the things I've done, but I will not stand idly by while my son hurtles down the same path."

"What we did was just for fun, it wasn't Death Eater torture!" Draco protested.

"If you fail to see the connection, I pity you," said Lucius, taking a step away. "You are confined to the manor until you can prove to me that I can trust you, and until I know that you understand why your actions were wrong."

"How am I supposed to prove either of those things?"

"You're a bright boy, I'm sure you'll figure it out." With that Lucius spun around and walked out, his cane clutched tightly in his fist.

Draco crawled up onto his bed and lay face down, feeling alternately guilty for his transgressions and sorry for himself. His bum burned like fire brands had danced over it, yet he honestly couldn't say he didn't deserve it. This was the pureblood method of discipline, it had always been so. No, that was inaccurate: for past generations it had been much more stringent; his grandfather used to whale on Father's back and legs besides his buttocks, and _that_ was gentle compared to how grandfather had been treated. Draco had gotten off relatively light, comparatively speaking. Even so, he wished he'd taken the opportunity to learn healing spells from Uncle Severus…because he'd rarely been punished, he hadn't felt a need for them. And no way in hell would he dare summon Uncle Sev now!

He groaned and pressed his face into the covers. He hated having Father cross with him, and even worse having him _disappointed_ in him. How was he going to prove he could be trusted? Lucius Malfoy did not lightly place his trust, Draco could be stuck in the mansion for a very long stretch—which would give him plenty of time to come up with a convincing essay itemizing what he'd done and why it was wrong. But he really didn't feel like thinking about it right now…he suddenly felt very tired.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Harry had waited several days to talk to Snape, mainly because he was hoping Hagrid would figure out what animal was making the big holes in the grounds. He didn't want to be an alarmist, running to the Headmaster with every little problem, but now it seemed he had no choice. Hagrid had found another hole and was no closer to ascertaining what creature had made it than he'd been a week ago.

Breakfast seemed the ideal time to approach the churlish wizard—that is, there were far too many witnesses for him to wreak too much havoc on Potter. Harry had to conclude that Snape was being more peevish than usual on account of his extra long hours trying to create an antidote for Rita Skeeter; everyone knew his heart wasn't in it, meaning of course that he resented all the time and effort expended toward a cause he detested. And when Snape was in a mood, everyone treaded carefully.

Harry glanced past Hermione, who was prattling on about her lesson plans for the week and how to best help the students prepare for their exams. Seriously, she had to know he wasn't listening! When had he ever shown the remotest interest in such things? That was Hermione's forte, he wouldn't dream of intruding on her territory…and also it was really hard and complicated and it made his head ache when she went on about it. He'd much rather face Snape than hear one more word about 'achievement goals'.

"Excuse me, Hermione, I need to talk to Snape." He got up and walked past the empty chair where McGonagall should be. He looked at it curiously; she was always on time. That was quite odd.

Out of the corner of his eye Severus saw Potter's spiky head wending its way toward him and he sighed heavily. What had he done to deserve this life? Getting up and fleeing was too obvious, it would make it appear that he was…well, fleeing. As miserable as interacting with the whelp could be, he wasn't about to reorganize his life because the Boy Wonder was near. Besides, Potter—damn the brat—was faster than Severus. Hexing him dead was—regrettably—out of the question, as was any curse that would attract attention. That left precious few choices. Before Snape had run through his limited options, the bane was upon him.

"Good morning, Professor." Harry smiled in his cheeriest manner. He'd heard it tended to reduce tension and improve communication.

Apparently Snape hadn't read the same publication. His frown morphed into a grimace that could have frightened the Grim Reaper himself. "To what do I owe this deceptively delighted greeting, Mr. Potter? Have you somehow managed to annihilate your classroom and wish to request another?"

Harry actually laughed, thinking Snape had made a joke…till he remembered Snape didn't know _how_ to joke. If only Fred and George had rubbed off on the man. He cleared his throat and put on a solemn expression. "Professor, I've been talking to Hagrid. He's found some large tunnel-like holes in the grounds, and he doesn't know what's making them."

Long, uncomfortable pause. Were Harry's eyes deceiving him? Snape's hair looked less greasy than normal. Must be the lighting.

At last Severus intoned, "If Hagrid were concerned, he would have come to me, would he not?"

"That's the problem, sir. I don't think he's taking it very seriously. Those holes are big enough for Nagini, he said." Harry noted the tensing of the man's jaw at the mention of the snake's name. "The thing is, if it were a snake, he'd know. I'm just worried there could be some animal roaming around and it might be dangerous."

Despite the fact that he deplored agreeing with the Brat-Who'd-Made-His-Life-a-Living-Hell-For-Years, Potter made a reasonable argument…so unlike him, really. Snape already had the Ministry breathing down his neck about Skeeter (speaking of whom, he probably ought to begin a true search for the cure—oh, in the next month or so), he didn't need one of his students to toddle into the path of an unknown carnivore and be maimed or devoured. The paperwork alone would consume a vast amount of time—and there was the tiny issue of not actively desiring to see his pupils murdered unless _he_ was the one performing it.

"I'll look into it, Potter. You may go." He waved a hand regally at the young man.

Harry didn't move. That is to say, he didn't _leave_. He shifted nervously from one foot to the other. "Yeah, okay."

_Why is he still here? Does he not understand the subtlety of a dismissive wave when he sees one? Good heavens, must I spell out the words 'Go away'? No, he might not be able to decipher it. Merlin's beard, does the twit have a death wish?_ Severus wondered idly how many pounds of pressure it would take to snap a neck.

Realizing that silence wasn't going to deter Potter, Severus heaved a martyr-like sigh so hard it sent him into a coughing fit, which dropped his mood another notch. He quickly regained his composure and glowered at the young man. "_What_ do you want?"

Harry brightened immediately. "Since you ask, I was thinking—"

_Not bloody likely._

"—that you haven't visited the Burrow in a long time."

Snape's heart froze in his chest. _No, they wouldn't! Could they be so cruel after what he'd done for them?_

"Mrs. Weasley has asked after you, she'd love to have you over. The whole family would be there, we'd have loads of food, we could play Quidditch," rambled Harry, getting excited at the thought of such a wonderful get-together.

Passels of Weasleys, crazed people screaming around on brooms, Potter—it was every nightmare rolled into one! Severus pushed away from the table in a near panic. "I'll get back to you on that," he rasped through a severely dry, tight throat. "I must go check on Minerva."

Severus glided away looking completely unperturbed—until he got into the hallway where he was alone to vent his horror. He'd narrowly escaped that one! Surely he'd come up with a respectable excuse to avoid the redheaded throng by the time Potter ambushed him again, though his heart still pounded furiously. Molly was nice enough one on one, aside from the blasted hugfests, but the whole troop were too many to be civil with at a time!

As he strolled towards Gryffindor Tower, he let the abhorrence of Harry's suggestion fade away, and he began to genuinely wonder why Minerva hadn't come to breakfast. It wasn't like her to leave her cubs unprotected and at the mercy of the evil bat Headmaster. He sneered and chuckled at once.

The Fat Lady struck a seductive pose, hands on hips, lips pouty. "What's the password?"

"Open the door or I'll have you replaced," smiled Severus. He always enjoyed their exchanges.

The Fat Lady's pout turned to an injured sulk. "Dumbledore liked to guess my passwords."

Still smiling, Severus retorted, "Dumbledore was a candy gobbling, secretive, manipulative old coot—and if you tell him I said so, I'll let slip to the knight in the second floor portrait that you have a crush on him."

"Oh!" huffed the portrait, blushing mightily. "I most certainly do not!"

"We can keep it between ourselves," crooned Snape, pointing at the door.

The Fat Lady swung the door open, and as Severus passed by she winked at him. "You're a sharp one, Severus Snape. Watch yourself or I might set my sights on you."

"I should be so lucky, my lady," answered Severus with a small bow accompanied by a smirk. Portraits were so much easier to deal with than people.

He headed up to Minerva's quarters and knocked briskly. No reply. "Minerva, it's Severus. I'm coming in." With his wand he unlocked the door then stepped inside. "Minerva!"

Instead of the wiry woman in a pointed hat, a tabby cat came padding in, sat down at his feet, and looked up at him piteously.

The desire to explode in a string of profanity practically overtook the man, but he must not be hasty. He knelt down, picked up the cat, and peered deeply into her eyes—at which point the stream of expletives promptly broke forth.

By the time he'd calmed himself, the cat had scurried across the room and hopped on the back of the sofa. "Damn it, Minerva, why did you do something so foolish, something you would give a month of detentions for?"

For obvious reasons the cat didn't answer, it simply mewled pathetically.

"Don't give me that lame excuse!" snapped Severus. While he hadn't understood what she said, he'd seen enough in her mind to know she'd grown tired of waiting for an antidote and had decided to find out if she had indeed been affected by the fumes that had ensnared Rita. Evidently she had. "We all know what curiosity killed, _don't we_?"

Minerva hissed and swiped a claw at him.

"Your disposition as a cat is only mildly more tolerable than your human temperament," he growled. He lunged over to scoop up the snarling feline. "I'm taking you to Poppy, we can't leave you here alone. And don't even _think_ about scratching me! Or biting…"

(Author's footnote: Jason Isaacs—a.k.a. Lucius Malfoy—played Dr. Ronald Quincy in _Armageddon_.)


	47. One Night in March

Death Eater No More—Chapter Forty-Seven (One Night in March)

It was almost time for Bayly to leave for his detention, the end of which seemed nowhere in sight. Professor Snape hadn't given the boys any indication of when their punishment was to finish, and the usually patient Bayly was becoming frayed a bit. It had been weeks, his grades were beginning to suffer because he didn't have time enough to properly execute his homework and essays in addition to assisting the Headmaster at his task, which often lasted well into the night. Since Professor McGonagall had trapped herself in the form of a cat, the Potions master's mood had taken a corresponding dive and the days had gotten longer and more full of aggravation.

He was busy re-folding his clothes sent up from the laundry by the house elves. Out of habit he needed them folded to Durmstrang specifications as he had grown accustomed to in his six years there. It seemed…wrong…to fold them otherwise, silly as it seemed.

"Hey, Bayly." Floyd came in, dropped his books on the desk, and hopped on his bed.

"Hey, Floyd."

"Can I ask you something?" He didn't wait for a response, he launched into his next sentence. "How long are you supposed to go with a girl before you, um, try something?"

Bayly looked askance at him. "Try something? You mean like try to get into her knickers?"

"Basically," admitted Floyd, reddening. He was glad his friend's back was turned so he didn't see it.

The other boy shrugged. "How would I know? Gloria made it clear up front that she doesn't put out. And Luna—I don't know about her, but I haven't heard any rumors. She's nice, don't go acting stupid with her."

"Are you a virgin?"

The question hung in the air for what seemed ages, like a black, noxious cloud. Bayly began to ram his clothes into the open drawer. "Not exactly."

"I knew it!" crowed Floyd. "Only if it's not Gloria, it must've been some girl at your old school."

Bayly shook his head. "Dormitories are charmed so the opposite sex can't get in, and teachers patrol the Quidditch pitch and everywhere else constantly. I never once heard of a girl getting pregnant while I was at Durmstrang." Now he was patting the stack of clothes down.

"Then who was it?" pressed Floyd, ignoring the forbidding body language.

"What does it matter?" exclaimed Bayly in irritation, slamming the drawer.

Still Floyd remained fixated on his question, heedless of his friend's reluctance to go on. "Just that it's purported to be one of the best days of a bloke's life!"

Bayly wheeled on him, hazel eyes blazing. "Yeah, it was real _special_. You wanna know what happened? Fine. When I was sixteen, over Christmas hols, my father decided to give me a _present_."

Floyd blanched and sat up rigidly on the bed. "Geez, Bayly, I'm sorry. I didn't—"

Suddenly understanding what Floyd was surmising, Bayly hurriedly asserted, "No! No, not _that_! He dragged me off to a brothel and made me watch him doing it with some whore old enough to be my mother. Then he ordered me to shag her."

The other boy's face twisted in disgust.

"I told him I'd rather not, but you know how Dolohov was," continued Bayly doggedly. His friend wanted to hear it, by heaven he was going to hear it—all of it. "He threw me against the wall and said he'd teach me obedience the hard way. Since I wasn't keen on finding out what that meant…I did it." A knot of bile rose in his throat at the memory. Blinking, he swallowed hard. "Then afterward he slapped me around and said if I breathed a word of it to mum, he'd kill me. Yep, best day ever."

Floyd sat stone still, mouth slightly agape, looking vaguely traumatized. At last he murmured, "Gross. Sorry for bringing it up."

What was there to say? Bayly shrugged again. "Now you know. I have to go, I can't be late." He waved as he headed out the door.

He trotted down the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower and through the castle, meeting few people along the way; he drew to an abrupt stop upon spying a prefect's badge, then broke into a grin. It was only Sammy coming from the other direction. They walked together the remainder of the way, only to discover a surprise awaiting them in the Potions lab.

"Hello, boys." From her desk Aline glanced up at the clock and smiled. "You're a few minutes past time. Good thing you showed up now, I'd hate to report you late." Not that she would, but it never hurt to send the fear of the Headmaster into a student, right?

The young men entered the lab cautiously, heads swiveling, expecting Snape to pounce on them from a corner or send a hex from afar, but nothing happened. Good thing indeed! If Snape had been the one here, who knows what tirade he'd go off on—or worse, the silent treatment wherein one anticipated being smacked any second, always wondering when it would come. Slowly they approached their customary table where as usual the ingredients were all laid out.

Before they had a chance to ask Aline volunteered, "Professor Snape had an urgent meeting to attend, so he asked me to fill in for him tonight."

Strictly speaking, that wasn't a completely accurate version of how it had gone down, but it was relatively close and sounded much less embarrassing and obnoxious than the truth. Snape had slinked into the lab during her morning class with first years—knowing full well she dared not divert her attention from the miscreants lest they somehow manage to poison the entire room or explode something. He'd announced that he'd be gone this evening, and that Aline was to take over for him. Nowhere had there actually been a question or request, then he'd given her that smug little smile that always gave her an irrational desire to slap him, and he'd flounced out.

The only reason Aline hadn't put up the slightest fuss at having Snape's detentions dumped off on her _again_ was that she'd had the opportunity to study the formula they were to prepare. The Headmaster could pretend all he wanted that his bug formula had been an accident against Rita, but the paper clutched in her hand told another story.

"Sammy, chop this butcher's broom into a near-mince state—but not quite. Bayly, I'll need a decoction of the Siberian ginseng." There was no reason to watch the boys, she trusted them to do as they were asked. Aline collected the key for the supply cabinet down the hall where she'd find smooth Russian vodka to make a seven-minute tincture of boswellin.

She hummed a tune as she strolled along, feeling very pleased at this turn of events. Did Snape really believe she wouldn't recognize or understand something as basic as a quercetin potion? Any Potions master worth his salt could put two and two together! Given this combination of herbs, the anti-inflammatory properties of all these ingredients had to be key—and geared toward inhibiting lipoxygenase, an enzyme involved in the metabolism of arachidonic acid, which causes inflammation. Therefore, logic dictated that whatever he'd done to his bug repellent must have caused a constant supply of arachidonic acid to be created, which would maintain the inflammatory response in a self-sustaining loop that somehow fed on the host. Otherwise it would wear off eventually, surely long before now. She had to admit it was a brilliant plan to keep Skeeter as a beetle. Ruthless….but brilliant.

Bayly shook his head and sighed as he nudged Sammy in the ribs right after the teacher had left the room. Why did it fall on _him_ to counsel all the sex-crazed boys at Hogwarts? When Sammy looked over at the unwelcome poke, he said, "I'm telling you this as a friend. You need to back off from Professor Conn."

"What?" mumbled Samson, flustered.

"I saw the way you looked at her just now. Professor Snape told you to cut it out."

Bristling, Sammy responded, "What's it to you? I'm not hurting anything, and he's not here." His boldness faltered a bit as he took a quick glimpse around to be sure Snape truly wasn't there.

Lowering his voice in case Conn returned, Bayly confided, "I think Professor Snape has his eye on her, and in your place _I_ wouldn't want to tangle with him."

"No way!" replied Sammy, shock evident all over his face. _Snape_? With Aline? But that would mean they were rivals for her affection! Except that she'd already nicely brushed Sammy off—was it because of Snape? "Do you think Professor Conn knows?"

Bayly laid a solemn hand on his companion's shoulder. "I have no idea, but if you value your life and certain parts of your anatomy, you'll back off."

Sammy let out a tiny grunt and flopped onto a stool. It wasn't really that much of a dilemma, more of a disappointment. Aline—Professor Conn had turned him down…Snape was apparently interested in her…the choice was clear. Notwithstanding the fact that the man could wipe the floor with his pupil in a duel, Sammy respected him very much. He would gallantly step aside—and save his family jewels in the process.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Severus used his fork to stab and push around the diced octopus tentacle on his plate. Unless he was mistaken, it wasn't even cooked! Honestly, what had he been thinking to let Lucius order for him? Maybe rich purebloods ate this swill, but people like Snape did not! A sour look over at Malfoy caught the blond wizard smirking shamelessly.

Lucius feigned (badly) a concerned attitude. "What's wrong, Severus? You said to order for you if you were late."

"I was _four minutes_ late, Lucius," he snapped. "And I had assumed you'd have the decency to order _food_."

"That's what you get for assuming," chortled Lucius, drawing the attention of a couple seated across the room—no one was seated at a table adjacent to the Malfoys. Noting who it was, the couple quickly looked away and hid behind their menus.

In this exclusive, heinously pricey restaurant, the patrons had certain expectations of a quiet, genteel ambiance unbroken by plebeian acts such as _laughter_. When their snooty expectations were shattered by none other than the richest wizard in Britain—an ex-Death Eater to boot—no one was in a particular hurry to make waves.

"Sweetheart, stop teasing him," admonished Narcissa as she leaned over to hug Lucius' arm. As always she looked effortlessly stunning in a sleeveless chocolate brown silk gown, hair swept up in a loose ponytail that allowed her longer tendrils to brush her shoulders.

Her hand caressed Lucius' chest over his forest green dress robes that were so enticingly soft and luxurious, robes very similar to the black ones Severus wore—a gift from the Malfoys the previous Christmas. If Severus weren't here, she'd be tempted to invite her husband back to the manor for playtime in lieu of dinner.

Lucius raised his left hand and his pinky wedding ring sparkled against the light from the overhead chandelier. He made a simple come-hither motion with his fingers and immediately a waiter scurried out from some distance behind him carrying a steaming plate of lasagna, which he set in front of Snape and removed the objectionable dish. Another casual wave of the hand sent the man away.

"Is that more to your liking, Mr. Snape?" he drawled, eyes twinkling.

"Quite," said Severus, permitting a small smile. When was he going to learn that Malfoy loved to tease him and would go to great lengths to pull one over?

"If you men will excuse me," said Narcissa, rising from her chair. "I'll be right back." She didn't think it necessary to announce her need to tinkle, or that she had been holding it for fifteen minutes while Severus complained at length about Minerva McGonagall's stupidity and described how he'd wrangled the Potions mistress into taking his detentions so he could come here. She _so_ hadn't wanted to miss the expression on his face when that plate had arrived!

Lucius stared at his friend for several seconds, ascertaining that he'd been right. The man's perennially greasy hair had…_body_…and _bounce_. Curious. In the typically blunt manner he'd always used with Severus on account of their near-brother relationship, he mused aloud, "What's with your hair? It looks different."

"I didn't realize I required your permission to effect a change," retorted Snape.

Malfoy ignored him and went on with his observation. "How do I put this delicately? It's not greasy."

"The epitome of tact," grumbled Snape sarcastically, rolling his eyes. Despite his surly demeanor, he was secretly pleased to have it noticed. "If you must know, Miss Conn invented a potion several months back and foisted it off on me—I told you about that, how pissed off I was. I decided to give it a go, so for the past couple weeks I have been ingesting it and putting it on my scalp."

"Do you have to do this forever to continue the effects?" asked Lucius, greatly interested.

"According to Miss Conn, it should be permanent."

Lucius nodded and took a bite of his food, chewing thoughtfully. This was an incredible boon for Severus. Oh sure, he'd grown accustomed to people making fun of his hair because of his blasted oily skin condition, but deep down it had to have bothered him. "For being such a bitch as you described her, Miss Conn is quite talented."

The corner of Snape's mouth quirked and he swallowed his food in a lump that refused to go down his suddenly dry throat, necessitating a huge gulp of red wine to ease its passage. "Yes, well…that's what I'd like to discuss. I may have been hasty in my assessment of her."

Grinning slyly, Lucius raised his own glass in a mock toast. From what he'd seen of the Potions mistress, she was attractive, single, intelligent, snide—the perfect wit to fend off Severus' ill temper. Not many women fit the bill, and Severus rarely changed his opinion of anyone. "You fancy her, don't you?" He took a sip and waited.

"She's highly skilled, conversant in the most difficult formulas, she adores the Dark Arts, she—"

"For heaven's sake, answer the question!"

"Yes." He began to poke around his lasagna as if it were the wretched octopus.

Lucius smiled and leaned forward, his excitement sparking in his eyes. How long had it been since Severus had desired a woman? "Does she reciprocate your feelings?"

Staring down into his plate, unseeing, Severus mumbled, "I don't know, I haven't approached her…which is where you come in." Moving only his eyes, he peeked up at Lucius.

Malfoy burst into laughter at the pathetic sight of his friend peering at him like a twelve-year-old boy with his first crush. "I'm not going to talk to your girlfriend for you!"

The other man's face hardened into a semblance of the Death Eater he'd once been; he was definitely not twelve. Coldly he remarked, "I'm glad you find this amusing. I _meant_ I wanted to ask your advice."

"Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist. How can I be of service?" Lucius reclined back in his chair, goblet of wine in one hand, legs crossed; even now his striking presence made it evident why young women had fawned over him for years, although he'd paid none of them any mind except his beloved Narcissa.

"I've never been a teen idol or worshipped from afar like yourself. How do I get Miss Conn to notice me as a man and not just as the Headmaster?" Severus asked simply.

Lucius took another sip of wine as he pondered. He pursed his lips and studied Snape until the poor man felt like a zoo animal. At last he pronounced, "Well, you might stop calling her 'Miss Conn'. She has a name. Now that your hair has been degreased, you could get a trim, you're rather shaggy. Have your teeth whitened, I can give you the name of a good dentist—"

"What's all this about haircuts and teeth whitening?" inquired Narcissa, sliding into her chair. Lucius had risen to pull it out for her, then gently pushed it up to the table and took his own seat.

"Severus wants advice on how to snag Aline Conn," tattled Lucius before Severus could shush him or make death threat motions.

"Really? Severus, that's wonderful!" Narcissa reached over to the mortified wizard to take his hand between hers, and she tugged it up and down with as much excitement as Lucius had demonstrated earlier. "But Lucius, dear, there is more to winning a woman than physical appeal."

"You couldn't be more right, love," concurred Lucius. He stroked the back of his hand over her cheek. For all his good looks, he was fully aware that Narcissa saw more in him than anyone ever had…and expected more _from_ him in the way of loyalty, honesty, affection, emotional support, understanding. Snape had his work cut out for him if Aline expected the same things from her man. "Sweetheart, why don't you field this one?"

Narcissa didn't need to be asked twice. How exhilarating to play a part in their good friend's love life! That is, assuming he actually had one, and in all frankness she wasn't convinced that he did. To her knowledge, Glenna was the last woman he'd been with. "Let's start with your conduct, shall we?"

Snape groaned and slid down in his seat, back hunched defensively. He had to tell Lucius, didn't he? That blond prat couldn't keep his mouth shut where Narcissa was concerned, and now she was about to ream him on all his shortcomings. If life had taught him anything, it was that he harbored an unusually high number of shortcomings. _Way to go, Malfoy!_

"Severus, you told us you'd 'informed Miss Conn' that she'd be taking your detention, right?" What was it with Malfoys asking questions they didn't want answered? She breezed on without hesitation to her point. "That's probably not something that will win favor with her. Women don't like to be ordered about."

Grimacing, Snape admitted to himself Narcissa was at least being nice about it, and if he were honest with himself he conceded he'd deliberately treated Conn worse than the other teachers—except for Potter, who would never in his mind be a real teacher.

Even so, it was his nature to fight for himself whether it be a physical or verbal assault. "She's one of my instructors, I treat her like the rest." It was such an obvious lie he was sure Narcissa would call him on it and prolong this scolding that was so mild he couldn't even resent her for it.

"If you want her to be more than that, you need to treat her differently from the rest," said Narcissa, smiling encouragingly, raising her fine blond brows.

Bullheadedly he repeated, "She's one of my instructors. How can I exhibit favoritism?"

Before anyone saw it coming, Lucius bent forward and flicked him on the side of the head with a 'pop'. "As if you didn't show favoritism in your classes for years? Pay attention and stop arguing with my wife. She's trying to help you!"

Snape's fists clenched and his teeth ground together in a fit of indignation. If he hadn't already been in a less-than-cheerful mood, his deepened scowl might have had more effect. "One more time, Malfoy, and I'll remove that hand from your wrist!"

"I'm trembling," drawled Lucius. He wore an almost bored expression, his eyelids hooded. Just for show he used the same hand to pick up his wine goblet and took a leisurely sip.

In exasperation Severus exclaimed, "Who else am I going to assign to brew a potion than the Potions mistress?"

Narcissa patted his hand comfortingly, lending her best empathetic mien. "Then you _ask_ her to take over, you don't command it like a dictator. And don't take advantage of her good nature."

Lucius broke in with a warning accompanied by a placid smile. "If you say 'but she's one of my instructors' once more, I'll hex your lips off."

"I wasn't going to say that," Severus sneered, though it had been on the tip of his tongue.

Teeth gleaming, Narcissa smiled brightly but her blue eyes sent daggers from one man to the other. Merlin's beard, they acted more like bickering teenage brothers than friends! "That will be enough, gentlemen. We're trying to help, not brawl. Severus, you deserve happiness and if Aline can provide that you must pursue her. Make her feel special."

"Open doors for her, stop snarling when you speak with her," interjected Lucius helpfully. "Maybe tell her she's attractive or good at her job—I know you've never told her that!"

Sulking, arms crossed over his concave chest, Snape growled back, "She is perfectly capable of opening her own doors, and I do not _snarl_…most of the time. And she'd probably think I was up to something if I complimented her."

"You asked for advice, we're giving it. It's up to you to take it." Lucius finished off his glass of wine, then eyed the bottle warily. If Narcissa had the slightest inkling or notion that he was headed toward inebriation, she'd…he wasn't quite sure what she'd do, but it wouldn't be pleasant, that he could count on.

In a reluctant voice, eyes reflecting a haunting childlike fear, Severus asked, "What if she doesn't like—what if she rejects me?"

Narcissa, thankfully, beat her husband to the punch. Despite being intelligent, handsome, and good at business, he had a marked proclivity for being brutally honest with his best friend in ways that would crush many people's feelings. Severus was tougher than that, but at times he needed a gentle touch, too. "I don't see that happening if you treat her with respect and show her true affection."

Oh, here it came. Lucius could not resist stuffing a foot in his mouth, boot and all, and chewing on the sole for good measure. "What my wife is diplomatically trying to say is you have to totally not be yourself."

"Is that how you are with me, _sweetheart_?" asked Narcissa. Her tone had entered the danger zone that sent alarms firing off in the man's head.

Grasping at containment before it got out of hand, Lucius placed a stricken hand on his chest. "No! We're not talking about _me_—I revere you with the most genuine love and respect, Narcissa. I merely meant Severus must stop being a snarky git to Aline. No offense, Severus."

"Why would I take offense at being called names by a pompous twat?" replied Snape, amazingly managing to pull off a sneer and a smirk simultaneously. He'd been practicing it for an occasion just like this.

That did it. Weary of being nice in the face of these two incorrigible comrades, Narcissa made a split second decision she was sure Abraxas would wholeheartedly support (and Lucius would have a hard time arguing with, as she'd taken the page from his book): she reached over and flicked Severus in the forehead, startling him into a horrified silence. Lucius began to chuckle, until she turned and thumped him good in the same manner; he adopted a look of betrayed hurt. On their pale skin, the marks immediately turned a bright pink.

"One more mean remark or snide comment tonight and the wand comes out," she cautioned quietly. "The food is getting cold, I suggest we have ourselves an enjoyable meal. Don't you agree?"

The men exchanged dismayed, puzzled looks. What had gotten into the witch? They were behaving the same way they always did! Unwilling to risk her wrath, having gotten a small taste of it, they murmured agreement and dug into their food with occasional circumspect glances at Lucius' firebrand of a wife. Every so often she did manage to surprise them…

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Ladon awoke from his nap to find himself held prisoner in the barred cage once again. Face scrunched into a frown, he kicked his feet mightily, displacing his fuzzy blanket, then he lifted his legs within reach so he could finger his toes while examining his surroundings.

This was a different place, he didn't recognize it. The big one called Day-co was sitting not far away at a huge wooden block…maybe he was playing with it. He didn't look like he was having much fun. The main big ones who always made him feel happy and secure—Mudder and Fadder—were nowhere to be seen. Ladon slipped his foot up to his mouth to suck contentedly on his big toe while gazing up at row after row of multi-colored blocks lined up to the ceiling.

Without warning that icky wet feeling assailed him as the stuff poured from his body. He wished he could stop it from doing that, he hated it; it made him chilled and he wanted his blanket, but at two months of age he wasn't yet able to fetch it himself. He struggled mightily to flip over, to no avail.

He'd just geared himself up to start whining when a pretty, fluffy colored thing on Day-co's block caught his eye. A wafting of air through the room made it sway in the most enticing way. He wanted it, he wanted it very much and Day-co was ignoring him. Flailing his tiny arms and legs enthusiastically, he stretched out a hand to the toy, reaching as hard as he could. A quill with red and orange feathers zipped across the space and he snagged it in his grasp, grinning joyously. Like any good, normal baby he proceeded to ram the feathers into his mouth to chew and suck in infantile bliss.

"The baby wet himself." Mateo paused in the doorway to Lucius' library to address Draco, who appeared to be studying a book.

"How do you know?" asked Draco, looking up at him in a vaguely hostile manner.

"I can smell it. It's either Ladon or you." He walked in to stand over the crib, but he was still looking at Draco.

When Ladon saw him his limbs thrashed wildly and he cooed a greeting at Tay-o. The cold one had a soothing voice and sang him pretty songs he didn't understand. He liked Tay-o a lot.

"You know, I really don't need you to babysit me," Draco groused, pushing up from the desk.

Mateo shrugged. "Perhaps not, but your father asked me to check on you while he's out with your mother."

Ever since Draco's whipping a week ago, he'd been more sharp-tongued with everyone except Lucius, whom he avoided when possible, and was sweet as syrup to when not possible. Mateo truly couldn't say how much good the punishment had done, though he agreed it was well deserved. He looked forward to reading the essay the boy was supposed to write, yet found it hard to believe Draco seriously considered himself in the wrong. Time would tell.

"Draco, do you think it wise to give a baby a pointy object? He could have put his eye out!" Mateo reached into the crib and snatched the quill from Ladon, who promptly flew into a howling fit. The _sangrista_ held up the object in obvious vexation.

Suddenly concerned, Draco hurried over, eyes wide. "I didn't give it to him." He scrutinized the area along with Mateo to deduce if somehow it could have fallen into the crib. It could not.

"Then where—" Mateo stopped abruptly, wearing the same incredulous expression as Draco. Accidental magic at Ladon's age? It was practically unheard of!

In high spirits for the first time in days, Draco leaned over to pick up the squalling boy, without regard to soiling his garments with the tyke's urine. Smiling proudly as if the child were his own son, he hugged Ladon to him and kissed his cheek. The cuddling soothed Ladon, who calmed to a mere whimper. "Well, Brax, looks like you're officially a wizard! Maybe you're not pure 'brat' after all."

"Your parents will be thrilled," said Mateo, stroking Ladon's hair fondly. "But before they get home, it looks like both you and the baby need a change of clothing. And a bath—you both reek!"


	48. Cat Fight

Death Eater No More—Chapter Forty-Eight (Cat Fight)

Cut your hair, whiten your teeth, be nice… Egads, what did the blasted Malfoys expect, a complete makeover into Saint Severus of Spinner's End? Snape sniffed and turned up his prominent nose. He had made one small concession, trimming his hair to even up the ends, but that was as far as he was going; he liked his shoulder length locks, and now that they were no longer greasy he'd discovered the joy of running his fingers through his silky mane—in private, of course. He'd blow an artery if anyone caught him at such a _Malfoyish_ pursuit.

His lips turned up at the corners. Lucius could be such a knucklehead, but he meant well…he might not say the words, but Severus knew the man loved him like a brother, and he was only trying to help in the way he knew best, the way he'd learned as a wealthy pureblood boy: appearances must be impeccable. Fortunately, Severus wasn't bound by that silly notion. If Miss—Aline didn't accept him the way he was, that was her tough luck.

Narcissa had presented a valid point about respecting the Potions mistress, and it was for that reason Snape was at this moment striding down the corridor toward the dungeons. It was nice to be back in his old stomping grounds.

Severus paused at the door to the Potions lab. It was one thing to be intrepid when thinking about what needed to be done; it was another thing to do it. Gathering his wits about him, he flung open the door a bit harder than he intended and it crashed against the wall. _Subtle, Snape. Very subtle._ On the plus side, he had her attention.

Aline's head jerked up and she rose from her desk. "Headmaster, is something wrong?"

The rugrats were all gone, that was an auspicious beginning. Severus shut the door with a wave of his hand as he approached, then stopped a few meters from her desk. If the roiling nausea in his stomach was any indication, his bravado was wavering, though there was no outward sign and his voice remained perfectly level and calm. "Miss Conn—Aline." Lucius was right, he needed to call her by her name. "May I call you Aline?"

Shocked and somewhat dubious, Aline answered, "Um, sure. Of course. What can I do for you?"

"For one thing, you can call me Severus when the students aren't present. The other teachers do." Except Hermione Granger and the Potter twit, and if either of them used his given name he'd rip out their tongue and feed it back to them.

"Alright…Severus." This was shaping up to be a strange conversation.

_You can do this. Take a breath, concentrate._ "I came to…apologize." The word physically hurt coming out. What was that throbbing in his esophagus? He hoped it wasn't bleeding, that could be rather unpleasant. "I should not have foisted my detentions on you yesterday without asking if you had other plans."

This was getting creepier by the second. Who was this man? Had someone Polyjuiced himself to look like Snape? And for what purpose—to express regret for an obvious faux pas? None of it sounded like the Headmaster…but an imposter sounded downright ludicrous. What if Snape had become possessed by one of the castle ghosts? What if—

"Aline, did you hear me?"

"Yes," she murmured, snapping back to reality. "I appreciate the apology even though I had no plans. I'm not exactly a social butterfly." She grinned stupidly, and feeling silly for grinning she had a desire to kick herself. Acting like an idiot in front of Snape was as good as _begging_ to be mocked.

"Very well," said Severus. He'd accomplished his goal, he wasn't really sure where to go from here. Now that he'd admitted his blunder, he stood uncomfortably staring at the wall behind Aline. "I suppose I'll go, then."

Remembering something she'd meant to discuss with him, Aline perked up. "Prof—Severus, I think I should mention something. Bayly's been turning in work that's incomplete of late. It's not like him, and I'm worried that either he's having emotional problems again or these detentions are causing his schoolwork to suffer."

Snape's black orbs lit on her with an intensity capable of burning, yet they didn't look angry. Young had been keeping up with his work in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Snape had no reason to suspect anything amiss—until now. "You haven't spoken to him?"

"I have, but he's evasive." Her brown eyes, soft and entreating, met his. "I believe he really enjoys working with you and doesn't want to implicate you as a cause of his trouble. I understand the boys needed to be punished; however, may I suggest terminating their detention? They've learned their lesson, they even get along very well now."

They did get along, Severus had noticed it weeks ago. His punishment had been successful in changing the boys' behavior, for which he felt a keen sense of satisfaction. It was overshadowed now by the notion that his perhaps _slightly_ excessive number of detentions was causing the pupils to fall behind. That was unacceptable, period. "When the students arrive this evening, inform them that their punishment is at an end. If you will be so kind," he added, mentally berating himself. Being polite did not come naturally!

Aline smiled, and the sight gave Severus that bizarre warm feeling in his chest that until quite recently he'd attributed to heartburn or a prelude to angina. Now he determined it was most likely that bleeding esophagus.

"I'll tell them. I'm sure they'll be very happy to hear it." She paused to debate within herself…before she'd fully decided, she heard the words tumbling out of her mouth. "I'm sorry the potion we made yesterday didn't work. I think I know what the problem is."

Ordinarily Severus would have sneered, settled into a cross-armed stance, and baited the speaker to regale him with the glorious details if they knew so much. Today he was honestly interested in hearing what she had to say. He merely raised a black eyebrow. "I'm listening."

"One or more of the ingredients to combat inflammation is not being absorbed in the stomach, and is later broken down in the intestines, making the concoction useless. If you vaporize it, you won't have that problem—"

"—because when inhaled it goes directly into the bloodstream," Severus finished with her. For a split second he felt an overpowering urge to clasp her into his arms out of sheer delight at her intelligence and perceptiveness, the intangible bond they shared in the love of the fine art of potion making. He'd told her not a word about the original bug repellent, nor what the new brew was for. From nothing more to go on than the antidote formula, she'd figured out not only what had caused the problem initially, but how to solve it! "I surmised the same thing. The vapor, however, is tricky and hard to sustain."

Another awkward pause, then Aline uttered, "If you don't mind, I'll volunteer to assist you in making this antidote." She held her breath, anticipating a rebuke or even a laugh.

To her astonishment, Severus bowed his head with a shadow of a smile. "An excellent suggestion. I'll meet you here later tonight."

Heart pounding in exultation, he whirled—consciously billowing his robes for her benefit, and strode out smiling to himself like a teenager ready for his first date. The smile quickly morphed into a frown; if things followed their usual pattern, this 'date' could become a disaster…but if they focused solely on the formula, it should be alright. Only how in Merlin's name was he supposed to engross himself in his work with her standing provocatively right there? _You're a professional, Snape, get a freaking grip!_ Maybe he ought to go check on Minerva, she was likely driving Poppy to the brink of insanity as she so often did to him.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Minerva wasn't driving Poppy mad, per se. Over the past few days the animagus had taken up the habit of patrolling the corridors, returning only in the evenings to curl up and sulk in the corner of the infirmary on the thick, warm blanket Pomfrey had set down for her. What alarmed the medi-witch was how little Minerva was eating, and no amount of counseling or cajoling had a bit of effect.

That aside, it was bound to happen eventually with another cat given free rein in the castle. Why Poppy hadn't seen it coming remained a mystery…unless one considered that until now, the rest of the cats brought in by students were restricted to certain areas and had curfews along with their witches and wizards. At any rate there Mrs. Norris was, bold as you please, sniffing around Minerva for all she was worth right there on the floor of the infirmary…and Poppy nowhere to be found, as she'd just left for supper.

In typical McGonagall style, the tabby cat literally heaved a disgruntled sigh as it got up, turned its back on the intruder, and lay down again. Undaunted, Mrs. Norris pawed at the witch's back curiously, mewling. Who was this new cat who ran freely through the grounds—_her_ territory?

Minerva rounded suddenly on the unsuspecting feline and hissed as she gave a vicious swipe that scratched the poor creature's snout with a sharp claw. Blood welled up along the line of the wound. Mrs. Norris screamed like a Celt going into battle and flung herself headlong on the teacher, sinking her teeth into McGonagall's ear.

The screech coming from the Transfigurations professor resounded through the room. She backed up to the wall, shaking her head and doing what could be considered 'cat swearing' as she raked her claws at her adversary. Mrs. Norris let go and feinted back, then lunged forward in an all-out pounce on top of Minerva, digging in her back claws and flailing methodically with the front. Given time, she most likely would have thoroughly trounced the instructor, had not Severus intervened.

Snape heard the horrible sounds of animal screaming from down the hallway and broke into a run, drawing his wand as he went. An _immobulus_ stopped Mrs. Norris in her tracks, paw uplifted for another mighty wallop, and he approached swiftly to ascertain the damage. He picked up the stiff Mrs. Norris off of Minerva, who was cowering with her head beneath one paw.

"That's it, Minerva, try to look innocent," Severus quipped, noting the bloody notched ear and numerous scratches. "I'm willing to bet I can guess who started it."

Minerva drew herself up to a seated position and glared haughtily at him.

"If you continue to behave like this, it may be a very long time before I find a cure for your affliction," he warned, earning him a murderous stare.

The witch spun away from him, settled on her hindquarters, then commenced to licking her wounds.

Severus rolled his eyes. He'd have to tend her injuries, yet there was not a thing he could do about the missing piece of her ear, and somehow he felt sure she'd manage to blame _him_ for her disfigurement. It couldn't possibly be her bitchy Gryffindor attitude, could it? Ah well, it was only a bit of an ear; it could have been much worse.

He carried Mrs. Norris into the corridor, healed up the scratch Minerva had given her, and set her free. For a moment it looked like she intended to return to the infirmary, then she whirled and bolted away.

From a pocket of his robes Severus produced the jar holding Rita Skeeter that he'd fetched from his office, walked into the room, and set it on Poppy's desk. The bug propped its two front legs on the glass in a tapping motion eerily reminiscent of a human pounding on a door demanding to be liberated. If all went well with the potion, tomorrow he'd have to restore her to her original form, he may as well bring her here with Minerva. It was such a pity, his diabolical plan laid waste….

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Never having had a child of his own, or even a niece or nephew, Rabastan couldn't say for sure what 'normal' was. Nonetheless, he was pretty sure that Missy's game bordered on peculiar, if not outright morbid. Lounging on the arm of one of the wing chairs in the living room, he watched with growing interest as the little girl positioned her dolls, chattering first to herself, then to her audience of one.

"I'm playin' fun'ral, when daddy was dead and we all went to the church and then daddy comed back to life."

One figure whose dark hair had been hacked off almost at the roots had been wrapped in a scrap of cloth and laid between rows of dolls on either side—mostly seated, lying down for those unable to sit up. All the dolls faced forward except the one wrapped in cloth in the middle of the group.

"This one is daddy. They're all watching up there cuz the priest is gonna come and talk and talk," explained Missy. A moment later the redheaded stubby doll she'd forced on Lucius came bopping in with great bouncing strides, courtesy of the girl. It proceeded to give a speech in gibberish. "And mummy and everybody cries."

She mimed the weeping and wailing of the dolls in the first row, none of whom bore any resemblance to the family in size or proportion to each other except the Lori doll, whose dark hair and curvaceous figure did indeed resemble Fidelia. Next she encircled the daddy doll with the family stand-ins. "Everybody touch the coffin," she ordered. "Don't let go!"

By the time the child had buried Nott and brought him miraculously back to life, Rabastan was having serious thoughts of discussing this with Fidelia and Udo. Imagination was a good thing, but this bordered on obsession or pathology. "Missy, why do you want to play funeral for your daddy? He loves you, he's very good to you."

Missy bobbed her head solemnly in agreement. "My daddy's the best daddy in the world! When he comed back I was sooo happy, and mummy cried only she said she was happy-crying, and the boys cried, too, only they pretended they didn't."

"So you're telling me your daddy died for _real_?" he asked skeptically.

The girl nodded, sticking out her lower lip. "They putted him in a ugly coffin and buried him and I missed him so much I cried and cried. Then Mr. Malfoy comed and brought daddy home. I'm not 'posed to tell anybody about Mr. Malfoy 'cept family, but you're Uncle Rabby so that's family."

Up to the point where Malfoy entered the story, Rabastan would have been tempted to discount the entire thing as a little girl's wayward fantasy. But…she'd said Lucius brought Nott home. It was too specific, too non-fantasy. That could only mean _something_ had gone on behind the scenes, and he was very curious to find out what.

Well, there was no time like the present. He excused himself and went outside where Nott was using an old horse-drawn plow, furrowing it laboriously in fairly straight lines up and down the side yard, churning up the rocky dark earth under the guidance of his wand.

"How's it look?" beamed Nott, gesturing at the soon-to-be-garden area. "Pretty soon Fidelia wants to plant some vegetables and I'd like some watermelons. It'll give us work to keep us busy. What do you think?"

"Whatever you want is fine," Rabastan answered distractedly. He doubted either of them had ever tended a garden, but he could be wrong. "Nott, answer me this: your little daughter just told me that you were dead and Malfoy brought you back. What the hell is that all about?"

Nott's eyes widened just a touch and a shadow of something indefinable passed over his visage. He could lie, for all the good it would do—Rabastan wasn't known for leaving well enough alone. He'd already sworn not to tell anyone the truth, which left only one option. "I think you should ask your brother that question."

"What does Dolph have to do with it?"

The other man simply gazed at him in a very meaningful way, then turned back to his work, lifted his wand, and the plow began to move once more.

Cursing under his breath, Rabastan traipsed back into the house and stomped up the stairs right to the bedroom he shared with his brother. Rodolphus was lying on his bed reading a book from the small library downstairs. He looked up with an admonishing expression.

"You sound like a herd of elephants."

Rabastan chose to ignore the dig. If he got sidetracked by arguing, he might forget what he'd come up here for. He positioned himself at the foot of the bed, feet planted, arms crossed, staring at the other man.

Rodolphus carefully closed the book, set it on the nightstand, and sat up. "Apparently you've come to say something, so say it."

"I'm not sure exactly what to say," admitted Rabastan. How could one conduct an interrogation without any firm idea of what he was talking about? "Nott wouldn't tell me diddly, but I know something happened and you're involved. Missy said her father died, then Malfoy brought him back." Lips pursed, he stood there waiting.

To his annoyance, Rodolphus grinned. "I didn't realize you'd sunk to listening to the ramblings of a five-year-old. And since when is Lucius capable of raising the dead?"

"Nott told me to ask you!" Rabastan bellowed, abandoning the pretense of casual interest. "What is going on that you have to hide it from me?" That was it, the very crux of the matter—Dolph was hiding something from him, and it stung.

"Look, Rab, you're all worked up over nothing. Maybe you need a nap."

Wrong thing to say under the best of circumstances. This didn't even come close to the best. Rabastan's dark eyes flickered with a sudden fury. He lurched around the bed and with one swoop of his hand knocked his brother's feet off the bed. "Don't you patronize me or treat me like a child! If you won't tell me what's going on, I'll go to Fidelia…her kids…Lucius. One of them will talk, and if they won't I'll slip a few drops of Veritaserum in their drink. Nott and Malfoy could withstand it, but—"

"Alright!" Rodolphus felt his heart rising into his throat in a slow, painful squeeze. He knew his brother well enough to believe he wasn't spouting idle threats. He was going to find out the truth one way or another, it would be for the best if he found out from the one responsible. Slumped over, elbows on his knees, he chewed his lip before murmuring, "All those years I should've been protecting you from dad, and I didn't."

The other wizard frowned slightly. "This doesn't have anything to do with dad—does it?" It seemed highly improbable.

"Yes and no," said Rodolphus honestly, staring at his hands that hung limply in his lap. "You said that you didn't tell me about killing dad because you couldn't bear it if I hated you. Well, I couldn't bear it if you hated me, either." He so desperately did _not_ want to go on. "I should've known Varden took advantage of you, but I was too blind to see it."

Rabastan looked fit to choke on his own saliva. "H-how did you know that?" he asked weakly. Humiliation flooded his face; he'd begun to tremble.

"I heard you arguing with him one night. I made up my mind then and there what I was going to do. Once I found out, I did the only thing left in my power to protect you, Rabby. He hurt you….I wasn't going to let him get away with it."

The blood leaving Rabastan's face was traceable in the shades of white becoming ever more pale until he looked vampiric. "What did you do?"

"I Polyjuiced him to look like Nott and I killed him outside Hogsmeade." There was no regret, no sorrow in the frank confession, though his eyes pleaded with his brother. "The authorities assumed Nott was dead; Malfoy waited till after the funeral to tell the family."

"So Lucius and Nott were involved in this?" hissed Rabastan, his hand sliding down to his wand pocket.

"No, they had no idea I'd even planned it. I told them after the fact." Rodolphus sighed loudly. "I knew you'd be mad so I made everyone promise not to tell you."

"Mad?" repeated Rabastan in a whisper, advancing on the other wizard. "Why should I be upset that my brother murdered my only uncle?"

"You wanted him to die, I heard you," protested Rodolphus. "You said you'd kill him yourself if…" Oh. Hmm, there was a sticky point.

"If I didn't still love him," Rabastan finished for him.

"What would you have done in my place?" demanded the elder brother, bristling.

"I'd have _talked_ to you, Dolph! I'd find out what you really wanted!" shrieked Rabastan, retreating toward the door. "All my life you've made decisions for me and I went along with it, but no more! No more." He dashed out the door, thumped rapidly down the steps, and sped out the front door.

By the time Rodolphus made it to the porch in pursuit, his brother was gone. He'd disapparated away.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Mateo stood out on the front lawn of the Malfoy estate looking every bit as if he belonged there, his head high, his sharp gaze easily mistaken for haughtiness. If one didn't know who owned this manor, one would surely credit Mateo as that man. A crescent moon dimly illuminated the property as he spoke to another vampire whose short, pitch black hair contrasted starkly with Mateo's shimmering gold.

_"Encontre un hoyo cerca de los arboles; Adan encontro el otro en la huerta,"_ (I found a hole out near the woods; Adan found the other in the orchard.) the raven haired _sangrista_ said.

_"Estas seguro que son hoyos de duendes, Esteban?"_ (You're sure they're goblin holes, Esteban?) Mateo inquired. It wouldn't do to find out later, after raising an alarm, that it had been nothing important.

Esteban nodded grimly. He'd come here many years ago with Mateo and a group of _sangristas_ to eliminate an infestation of werewolves; he did not take his responsibilities lightly. _"Si, ya los he visto en el pasado. Sus unadas son muy distintivas."_ (Yes, I've seen them in the past. Their claw marks are very distinctive.)

_"Puedes ver que edad tienen?"_ (Can you tell how old they are?) Mateo pressed.

_"Muy recientes,"_ (Very recent) Esteban answered with a shrug. Beyond that he couldn't be terribly precise. _"La tierra ni siquiera se ha secado en las orillas del tunel de la huerta."_ (The dirt hasn't even dried around the edges of the orchard tunnel).

Mateo's countenance didn't budge yet he felt an odd sinking in the pit of his stomach. At times like this he'd prefer to be wrong. _"Entonces teniamos razon, los duendes estan espiando la casa. Trae el grupo mas cerca, fuera de vista, y estaciona seis en los sotanos. Ellos pueden atacar en cualquier momento."_ (So we were right, the goblins are scoping out the house. Bring the cult closer, out of sight, and station six in the cellars. They may attack at any time.)

Esteban inclined his head in a graceful demonstration of respect, turned on his heel, and leaped into the air where he sailed effortlessly away. Mateo looked up at the house and his shoulders drooped ever so slightly. This was bad news by any account, and he must be the bearer of it. So be it. Steeling himself for the certain quarrel to come, he marched up to the house and let himself in, a privilege Lucius had granted him and one he cherished for the trust it embodied.

He summoned a house elf rather than search the enormous place himself…besides, right now he didn't need to see Narcissa upset—or the baby, who was the most helpless of all. Less than a minute later Sisidy arrived clinging to Lucius' leg, and Mateo smiled in spite of himself at the absolute devotion she showed him.

The expression on Lucius' face was far less pleased. His brows were knit and he looked downright worried. "What's wrong, Mateo?"

No point in beating around the bush. "My men found two goblin holes—fresh ones. That means the creatures are definitely casing the house, and for all we know may attempt invasion."

Shaken to his core, Lucius gaped in horror, unable to speak. Despite the presence of the vampires and all the talk of goblins, he'd never actually believed the evil little beasts would have the gall to attack his mansion. It made him feel vulnerable, and he did not like that feeling one bit.

Finding his voice he uttered, "I suppose I should have told you about the dungeon beneath the cellars, if it makes any difference. Can they get in that way?"

"It doesn't make a difference," Mateo assured him, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. "If the goblins went in through the dungeon, they'd still have to break through the cellars. And just so you know, Abraxas told me all about the dungeon when he was alive, and how he'd sealed it off and warded it when you were about eighteen."

"It holds only bad memories for both of us," said Lucius quietly.

"I know," murmured Mateo. Abraxas had informed him of Horatio's twisted methods of 'discipline', hanging the young Abraxas by his wrists for days at a time…and of the single time he himself had put Lucius down there and how deeply he regretted it. Enough stalling, there were things that must be said. "Lucius, we will do everything in our power to guard you, but I'd rather be absolutely certain you're safe. I think you should take your family and leave for a while. You have other properties where you'd be out of harm's way," he suggested, watching the wizard warily.

"I don't want to leave. This is my house," snapped Lucius peevishly. "I'll send Narcissa and the children to London."

"And who will watch over them there?" asked Mateo in a soft, nonjudgmental tone. "Goblins may not be a problem there, but they need the security of your presence. They'll be worried enough about what's going on here without fearing for you."

The struggle going on in Lucius' mind read like a map on his face. Goblins had killed other families during the night; there were goblins on his property, they intended to rob him…perhaps slaughter him and his family. Mateo and his friends were here to prevent that, but what if the goblins changed their pattern, somehow broke through the wards around the house and got in during the _day_ when the _sangristas_ were asleep—and couldn't come into the house regardless for the sunlight streaming through the windows. What if he wasn't home at the time, what would become of Narcissa and Ladon? Draco would fight, no doubt there, but against a number of them…was it prudent to stay when they had alternatives?

"Alright, I'll have the elves pack immediately," he said with a resigned air. "How long do you estimate before they make a move?"

Mateo shook his head. "I wish I knew. For all concerned, I say the sooner, the better."


	49. The Talisman

Death Eater No More—Chapter Forty-Nine (The Talisman)

Mrs. Norris padded up to the infirmary, glanced carefully all around, and pushed open the swinging door with one paw. She liked this door, it didn't have the knobs to keep her out, though until now she'd never had much desire to come here. But there was a score to settle…an obnoxious cat to show who was top feline at Hogwarts; this time she'd finish the job so there'd be no question.

She poked her head around the corner looking left and right. The coast was clear. Her lithe body slipped inside and she headed directly for Minerva's sleeping spot, coming to an abrupt halt when she arrived. The dratted enemy wasn't there! She stalked back and forth, fuming. She could claim her territory by peeing on the bedding, but that was so gauche and unsatisfying…such a _tomcat_ thing to do.

Mrs. Norris hissed out a breath of air. Fine, she could wait. She sauntered across the room and leaped up onto Poppy's desk—and immediately forgot all about Minerva. There in a glass jar was the fattest, most delicious looking bug she'd ever seen. She approached rapidly, purring with delight, and commenced to circling the jar with intermittent swipes at the glass.

Inside, Rita scuttled frantically round and round the jar trying to escape the sight of the enormous beast who'd evidently set her sights on the beetle and who was rocking the jar mercilessly. Standing on her back legs, Rita clawed piteously at the hard surface, to no avail. When she eventually got free they'd all be sorry!

She got her wish sooner than she'd anticipated. Mrs. Norris smacked the jar again; it teetered, wobbled, and tipped over on the desk. A moment later it was rolling toward the edge of the desk with Rita ricocheting about inside; for the briefest second it hesitated at the periphery, then plunged to the floor and shattered on contact with the unforgiving stone.

Dazed and dizzy, Rita hobbled through the mess. The sudden appearance of Mrs. Norris on the floor sent her into a reeling flight for the slightly ajar window overlooking Pomfrey's desk, barely escaping the teeth from Mrs. Norris' snapping jaws aimed her way. She buzzed through the narrow opening in a clumsy, unsteady line only to collide head on with a tree branch, sending her bouncing back onto a lower limb where she found her feet stuck fast in a tiny pool of oozing sap.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Snape was in a good mood. No one at Hogwarts could actually lay claim to having seen it before, and at first glance it may have been mistaken for glee at having performed a particularly nasty hex or having managed to one-up the Gryffindors in some manner. But no, he truly was in a good mood; ever since last night he'd been walking on air.

Even his students today had noticed his lack of typical vitriol and point-taking for the most minor infractions. And instead of his usual drab black bat robe, he was wearing a fine silk (black, of course) robe that draped around him in shimmering waves. The majority of the pupils naturally assumed the change to be the result of imbibing a flask of firewhiskey or accidentally inhaling too many fumes from a euphoria-inducing potion, yet no one would have dared give voice to their suspicions…not while within half a mile of the wizard, at any rate.

The simple fact was that Severus had managed to get through the previous night with Aline without a sarcastic argument, 'heated discussion', childish name calling, or veiled death threats—quite an accomplishment for one so ill-versed in romantic behaviour and well-versed in snarkiness. They'd worked together like an oiled machine, each diligently keeping up their end of the brew. And their conversation had been heavenly! He hadn't needed to explain himself _even once_ while going over the mechanism of the antidote, they'd communicated like equals! Until now he hadn't realized how much he'd longed for that over the years.

Needless to say, there had been no real romance, but that was alright. He wasn't one to rush it. This evening when they met to prepare and add the activator which would cause the potion to vaporize, maybe he'd work his wiles on her. _Wiles_? Severus choked back a guffaw at that, causing students in his Defense Against the Dark Arts class to gape at him, wondering if he was having a seizure…failing that, they looked around to see who he'd been laughing at.

He could admit he was utterly devoid of amorous wiles, but if all went well maybe she'd consent to go on a genuine date with him where they could get to know one another in a setting other than the dungeon, pleasant as it was. It had been decades since he'd dated; his insides shuddered to imagine her refusal. When he dismissed his class a full two minutes early, earning him yet more strange glances, he didn't take notice. He was too focused on reaching the lab to continue their discourse to care what a bunch of mutant dunderheads were thinking about.

It came as no surprise that Aline had set out everything they'd need…the eminent disappointment came in the form of Minerva perched on a stool watching from afar. "Hello, Aline. I didn't realize you'd fetched Professor McGonagall," he said, trying to sound upbeat.

"Hi, Severus. I didn't bring her, she just showed up. I guess since she knows today is the moment of truth, she can't wait," smiled Aline, blissfully unaware of his annoyance at the cat. She reached over to scratch the feline behind the ears. "Hopefully we'll get you back in your right form, Minerva." She was rewarded with a hearty purr.

Severus shoved down the urge to punt the cat across the Quidditch pitch. Did she not care that he had his hands full with making the potion while trying to win over the Potions mistress? He grimaced in imitation of a smile. "Yes, with any luck you'll be back to your plucky self very soon. No doubt you've grown weary of hairballs and cat fights."

Minerva's scathing glare hardly qualified as friendly, certainly not on a par with her sweet manner to Aline. _Damned cat is unquestionably neurotic_, he groused.

Shooting his own glowers her way, Severus set to work. Aline stood across the table from him and picked up the rhythm they'd developed yesterday, their talk concentrated solely on the task at hand.

Out of the blue, during a lull in the conversation, Snape mentioned nonchalantly, "I employed the tonic you gave me for my hair."

Aline looked up at him, taken aback by the change of subject; her eyes ran over the sleek, soft locks, and she had to twist her fingers in her robe to stop herself from reaching out to touch them. "I hadn't wanted to say anything, but I noticed. I'm glad it worked."

Awkward pause. "I probably owe you another apology for denigrating your talent when I hired you. You have consistently surpassed my highest expectations." His heart was pounding so hard in his ribcage he feared it might be audible. When in all of his life had he complimented anyone like that—and meant it? And done so in front of another professor who could bear witness? Was he losing his mind? And yet….he didn't care. Everything he said was true, he had nothing to be embarrassed about.

Gobsmacked, Aline gaped for a moment, unable to process the comment. If he'd been sincere, and he seemed to be, this was truly an earth shattering moment. Snape's expectations were extremely high—not that she doubted her own abilities, only his capacity to recognize them. Up to now he'd done his best to ignore her successes. "I'm…I'm deeply flattered. I mean, I don't think you're trying to flatter me, it's just that you—oh, look! It's time to skin the corneas off the trout eyes."

Blushing, she snatched up a handful of the slimy eyes, most of which slipped right back out of her hand into the dish. She made another grab and this time one of the eyes shot between her fingers across the table and struck Snape in the chest. It rolled down and flopped onto the table. She stopped in place, horrified. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to spoil your lovely robe!"

Severus looked down at the trail of slime down his clothing. If she were anyone else, he'd assume it had been done on purpose—did that make him paranoid? Instead, he found himself concentrating on her statement that his robes were lovely. _She'd noticed!_ "Don't trouble yourself over it. The house elves have gotten out worse."

From the corner of his eye he could swear he saw Minerva roll her eyes before tramping round and round in a circle and lying down with a disgruntled sigh. "Yes, Minerva, we're working as fast as we can."

Thirty minutes later Aline was waking McGonagall and carrying the groggy cat to the experiment table. "It's ready, Professor. We'll add the activator, and you breathe in the vapor. Wait a minute, then try to revert to your human form. Are you ready?"

No longer tired, Minerva bobbed her head solemnly as her wary round eyes studied the cauldron. Severus almost felt sorry for her—almost. She should have heeded his warning in the first place; and in the second place, after all these years she ought to trust his skill.

He lifted the vial containing a measured part of the antidote they'd made yesterday; scooping out exactly three milliliters of the activator in an eye dropper, he added it to the potion, which began to billow a thick white vapor. Minerva padded over and he held the vial under her nose.

The wait seemed interminable. At last McGonagall hopped off the table onto the floor. A second later she transfigured into the stern woman they knew so well. Her clothes were rumpled and her hair knot askew, and there was a distinct notch near the top of her right ear, but she beamed at them both. To Snape's amazement, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed both cheeks. "Thank you, laddie! I can't tell you how tired I'd become of being a cat!" She turned to Aline and hugged her tightly as well. "Thank you, Aline. I won't forget this."

"You're most welcome," said Severus gruffly. Now he felt a little guilty for all the mean things he'd thought about her. "Minerva, I need to be absolutely certain it's permanent. Go into the corridor and walk down a good piece to where there cannot have been fumes. Switch to a cat then back to human. Do it a few times, if possible."

"Well, if you think it's best," she agreed, heading for the door in a slinky glide left over from her long stint as a feline. "You have more of that potion if it doesn't work, I presume?"

"Yes, we have plenty," chimed in Aline. She and Severus exchanged glances that were simultaneously hopeful and confident.

Minerva stepped out into the hall and walked about twenty meters from the door. A few minutes ticked by at a snail's pace, then the witch returned smiling brightly, to the relief of the others. "I've no problem transforming in either direction," she announced in a chipper tone. "You've done it!"

Severus smiled back and nodded—until McGonagall's next line.

"Now I suppose you'll have to fetch Rita Skeeter and revert her back to human before summoning the aurors."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Getting his family to go quietly to London for a few days hadn't been much of a chore—once Lucius informed them how close the goblins were and that Mateo had strongly recommended they leave. _And_ once he had promised to accompany his beloved wife on a shopping expedition. He'd rather gouge out his eye teeth with a rusty spoon, but this was important…imperative, even. At least he wasn't suffering alone, there was some small comfort in that.

With Draco shuffling sullenly behind and Ladon perched in the crook of his father's arm, they'd made their way through the jewelry section, the ladies' clothing section, and the shoe section of Wizard Emporium, the largest wizarding department store in the world. Narcissa's packages were stacked in a mound behind the service counter, waiting to be shipped to their London home, which was truly only a spacious flat. Lucius had no love of this city, but on occasion it came in handy to have a private, available space of their own here—like now.

"Oh, Lucius, look! Lingerie!" squealed Narcissa. This was sheer shopping paradise!

For the first time all day, Lucius smiled in earnest. Now _that_ he'd love to see. "I will of course be permitted in the dressing room with you," he said, more of a statement than a question.

"Naturally, dear," she crooned, brushing the tip of his nose with her finger. "Who could say 'no' to that beautiful face?" She bent in and kissed Ladon's cheek. "What a good baby you've been all day. Mother simply must buy you a gift."

"What about me?" drawled Draco, arms crossed, leaning on a support pillar. "I've been good."

Lucius rolled his eyes. The boy hadn't stopped complaining since Narcissa tried on her 77th piece of jewelry! Scratch that, he'd ceased carping long enough for them to enjoy a pleasant lunch at the in-store restaurant. "Make yourself useful and we'll see," Lucius said. With that he plopped Ladon against Draco's chest, forcing the young man to fold his arms around his brother. "Oh, and son—he needs to be changed."

The elder Malfoy smirked, took his wife's hand, and they practically skipped into the aisle to immerse themselves in multitudes of teddies, thongs, and whatnot the place had to offer.

Huffing with indignant vexation, Draco looked around for a restroom. In an establishment of this quality, cloth nappies were supplied free of charge to customers, but the actual diaper change had to come from the guardian. He caught sight of the loo some distance away, stalked over muttering under his breath, and stormed inside to the marble table built into the wall with a rack of diapers stacked above.

He gently laid the boy down on the sanitary mat that had appeared as he approached the table, hurriedly undid the tyke's robes, and yanked off the wet nappy, which he deposited in the bin provided. Ladon cooed and kicked his legs as one hand grasped at his genitals.

"Don't play with yourself," chided his brother. He suddenly got an odd, faraway expression. Why did that phrase seem so familiar?

Shaking his head, he expertly cleaned and dressed the child, then picked him up to stare nose to nose. "I hope you appreciate this. When you're older, I am _so_ going to hold it over your head. You owe me, brat."

Ladon smiled a wide, toothless grin and stuck out his tongue, which he wiggled up and down while his tiny hands pawed at Draco's face. One thumb found the older boy's eye and Draco yelped in pain. Thinking his brother was playing, Ladon laughed uproariously and squeezed with more intensity.

"Stop it, Brax! You're blinding me!" Draco yanked him away, losing a small fistful of hair in the process, causing another yelp and more melodious belly laughs.

Nursing his red, semi-swollen eye, Draco exited the restroom holding Ladon over his shoulder so the tot could take in the scenery. If he was busy gawking at new things he might be less inclined to maul his brother.

"What a darling baby!" a girl's voice behind him exclaimed.

Draco searched about automatically to see this child of whom she spoke. He didn't see any babies. A young brunette of about sixteen or so, dressed in stylish Italian robes, seemingly popped out of nowhere at his shoulder to fawn over Ladon.

"Oh, you mean _him_," Draco answered, positioning himself to get a good look at her. Quite pretty, nice sense of fashion.

"Yes, he's precious," she went on, holding out her hand. Ladon obligingly grabbed her finger, causing her to nearly melt.

The young man shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Truth be told, he can be a real pain at times. I, on the other hand, would show you only respect and affection. What's your name?" He grinned crookedly and winked. He was well aware of his physical similarity to his father and of the effect Lucius had on women, some of which had rubbed off on him.

Unimpressed, she cast him a cold stare, lowering her hand.

"Did I say something to offend you?" asked Draco coolly. He wasn't used to being brushed off.

"Not particularly. It's just that you don't seem very attached to your son, and I have no use for men who are lousy fathers." She lifted her chin a touch.

Draco snorted, not the most genteel or endearing sound by a long shot. "He's not my son, he's my brother!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I feel so foolish," gushed the young lady, pink tingeing her otherwise pale cheeks.

"I suppose I could forgive you if you agree to go out with me," said Draco smoothly.

"Maybe I will," she replied. She handed him several strands of hair Ladon had dropped in her palm. "I believe these are yours."

"You haven't told me your name," he persisted.

"It's Raina," she smiled. "What's yours?"

Lucius cleared his throat and both youths looked his way, startled. His lips were pinched with suppressed distaste and his grey eyes had a stormy cast that Draco immediately knew meant something bad on the horizon. "Come along, son. Your mother isn't feeling well, we're leaving."

"Father, I was talking to Raina—"

"And now you're not," Lucius fairly hissed. He reached over to pluck Ladon from Draco, making the latter flinch as if expecting a slap. "A Malfoy obeys his parents."

"Malfoy?" repeated Raina, stepping back, eyes widening. "I, er—never mind." She turned and fled without another word or backward glance. Draco watched in perplexed shock.

Taking the disconcerted Draco firmly by the bicep, Lucius shook him once, his voice low but taking on a hard edge. "The next time you meet a witch, find out her pedigree before falling over her like a Muggle in heat! For Merlin's sake, she could be a _mudblood_ for all you know."

"She's dressed too fine for that," countered the boy. All the mudbloods he'd been forced to endure at school had no fashion sense whatsoever where wizards were concerned.

"A halfblood, then. Whatever the case, she seems to have taken exception to our name. The Malfoys are very well known in Britain, a pureblood would have recognized you on sight. You would do well to research acceptable families with eligible daughters if you feel you're ready for courting." Lucius whirled and stomped off toward the lingerie.

"Yes, Father," Draco answered woodenly and followed the man back to Narcissa, who was sitting outside the dressing room on a chair, looking rather peaked. He came to kneel beside her. "Mother, are you alright?"

Narcissa stroked his hair and gave a tight smile. "I think I'm overtired. Maybe I ate something bad for lunch. Let's get back to the flat."

Draco offered her his arm to help her up, and they all headed for the floo.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

The last class of the day, Muggle Studies, was over and Bayly left hand in hand with Gloria, both of them curious about the commotion in the hallway. Amid a crowd of enthusiastic—nay, sycophantic students, they spotted the dark head of a young man doing what looked like signing autographs. When he broke free of the mass, his beaked nose and heavy black eyebrows instantly gave him away. He'd gained a bit of muscle weight and sported a mustache and clipped beard, but there was no mistaking him.

"Bayly, it's Viktor Krum!" squealed Gloria, bouncing in place. If she were a rabbit she'd have hopped right out of her spot.

"So I see," smiled Bayly, observing the Bulgarian calmly.

His eyes met Viktor's and the latter's face turned from borderline sullen to astonished and pleased. Grinning, Viktor cocked his head. _"Bayly Antoninovitch, tova ti li si?"_ (Bayly Antoninovitch, is that you?)

Ignoring the incredulous exclamations of his classmates, Young stepped forward to clasp the other man in an embrace. _"Viktore, radvam se da te vidya! Ot statiite za Quidditch chuvam che si dobre."_ (It's good to see you, Viktor! I hear from the Quidditch reports that you're doing well.)

Viktor took a pace back and let his gaze appraise his friend up and down. _"I ti samiiat izglezhdash v dobra forma! Ti touk si v otbora po Quidditch, nali?"_ (You look fit yourself! Are you on a Quidditch team here?)

Shaking his head, Bayly replied, _"Ne, dazhe ne otidoh na probite."_ (No, I didn't try out.) At Viktor's surprised, puzzled expression he explained, "_Tova e novo uchilishte, niamah pnyateli…a i predpolagam si choul za problemite s bashta mi."_ (It was a new school, I had no friends…and I suppose you heard about the troubles with my father.) His face dropped as his jaw tightened. He really preferred not to remember if he didn't have to.

Viktor's face hardened as well, from anger rather than shame. The very fact that Bayly obviously felt shame over the matter infuriated him at Dolohov. The news of Bayly's abduction, torture, and liberation—along with Dolohov's death—had made headlines in Bulgaria more for the demise of a prominent escaped Death Eater than for the horrible torments he'd subjected his son to…and Viktor strongly suspected there'd been more to it than the newspaper reported. _"Chouh. Ti sega dobre li si?"_ (I heard. Are you alright now?)

_"Dobre sam_," (I'm fine) said Bayly tersely, then hurried to change the subject. "_Ti kakvo pravish touk?"_ (What are you doing here?)

_"Doidoh da vidya Hermione,"_ (I came to see Hermione) said Viktor, his mouth quirking upward once more into a smile. So what if she was dating that moronic redhead in the past, surely she'd have gotten over him by now! _"Vsashtnost, nalozhi se niakoi da donese edin amoulet, koito ne mozheshe da se prati prosto taka sas sova, i az se yavih dobrovolets. Osven tova pri nas e vakantsiya, taka che moga da ostana niakolko dni."_ (In fact, someone had to bring an amulet that couldn't be sent by owl or anything and I volunteered. Besides, it's vacation for us, so I can stay a few days.)

Bayly nodded as Gloria glanced back and forth between them feeling rather left out and foolish. It had never occurred to her that Bayly must have spoken Bulgarian at Durmstrang, she'd naively assumed they'd spoken English…in actuality, she hadn't really stopped to consider it at all. And she'd never heard of Viktor Krum speaking so much at any one time—but then again, perhaps he just felt more comfortable in his own language.

_"Togava she te ostavya zasega. Mozhe bi shte se sreshtnem po-kasno y shte si obmenim po niakoya klyuka. Mozhem da otidem da letim, az niamam mnogo vazmozhnosti da go pravya,"_ (I'll let you go, then. Maybe we can meet later and catch up. We could go flying, I don't get much chance to do that) Bayly responded, slapping his buddy on the back.

_"Shte go napravim, badi siguren,"_ (I'll make sure we do) Viktor said. By now he was eyeing the young woman beside Bayly. She was cute, athletic, shoulder length dark hair—very nice. He turned a slightly admonishing frown on the lad, who certainly had learned better manners at Durmstrang even if they had to be whipped into him. _"Niama li da me predstavish na priyatelkata ti?"_ (Aren't you going to introduce me to your lady friend?)

Embarrassed, Bayly turned to Gloria. "I'm sorry, babe. That was really rude of me. This is Viktor Krum. _Viktore, predstavyam ti Gloriya, moeto gadzhe."_ (Viktor, this is my girlfriend Gloria.)

Viktor bowed, took her outstretched hand, and brought it to his lips in a kiss. "_Za men e udovolstvie, prekrasna gospozhitse!_ It is a pleasure, pretty lady," he translated for himself, smiling at her like a brother to his young sister. He wouldn't dream of making a move on a friend's girl.

Blushing, Gloria drew back her hand. "It's very nice to meet you, you're my favorite seeker _ever_! Listen to me, I sound like one of your silly fangirls. But I do love how you fly, and I love how you fellows are so gentlemanly."

Viktor appeared indifferent to the praise and adulation. He'd long ago gotten used to starry eyes, and public relations wasn't his strong suit. "Vould you like to come vith us vhen ve go flying…maybe also to eat, _nali, Bayly?"_ (Yes, Bayly?)

"I'd really like that," she returned, nodding vigorously.

Bayly flung an arm around the girl as he announced proudly, "_Gloria e presledvach v ekipa na Ravenclaw._ I told him you're a chaser for Ravenclaw," he murmured, pulling her closer.

"_Na teb ti varvi,"_ (You're a very lucky man) Viktor said with a wink, then he brushed past the slackjawed gawkers watching the interaction without even bothering to pretend otherwise. He went into the Muggle Studies classroom.

When he'd gone Gloria burst out, "Bayly, how do you know _Viktor Krum_? He's got to be four or five years older than us!"

Her boyfriend shrugged as they walked along. "In my third year I joined the Durmstrang Quidditch team—as a chaser, by the way." He grinned at her surprise and leaned in to plant a smooch on her lips. "When I got bigger and stronger the next year, I became a beater. Anyway, Viktor was the captain, and even after he graduated he'd come back every semester to see how the team was doing and to hang around with us."

"You're so lucky," she murmured.

He squeezed her hand as he looked down at her, tracing the contours of her face with loving eyes. "Yeah, I am." For the second time today, he wholeheartedly agreed with that statement.

Inside the classroom, Hermione raised her head at the sound of someone entering. She let out a stunned cry, brushing her hand across her desk and scattering a stack of uncorrected essays over the floor. "Viktor! What a surprise!" She rounded the desk and flew across the room as the man advanced from the opposite direction.

He threw his arms around her and lifted her right off the ground. "I've missed you, Her-my-o-nee," he enunciated carefully. He'd practiced the name repeatedly on the way, he hated those dreadful looks she gave him like he was an idiot. English was hard!

"I've missed you, too, Viktor," she gasped, pushing on his shoulders. "Put me down." Viktor set her on the stones. "What brings you here?"

To tell the truth or not to tell the truth, that was the question. Viktor paused to consider his options. He'd been making one of his customary visits to the Durmstrang team when the Headmaster had approached the boys with a request. From what the man said, Professor Snape had learned years ago from Karkaroff that their school housed a number of powerful artifacts. Snape now suspected goblins of attacking wizarding families in Britain and feared they might target Hogwarts. Recently he'd petitioned Durmstrang for an amulet, a Bulgarian talisman too valuable and delicate to be sent by owl or floo, or even apparated with.

The Durmstrang Headmaster had asked which of the boys would be hearty enough to fly it to Hogwarts, and quite naturally Viktor had offered. He spent a good deal of each day on his broom as it was, he explained to the wizard, and these boys had their schooling to attend to. This task would require days of flying, perhaps under dangerous weather conditions; it was the job of a man, not a boy. He'd felt no need to mention the tipping point for him had been his long time crush on the present Muggle Studies teacher. Nor was there a need to bring it up now, he decided.

Viktor raised his hands to his neck and tugged at the cord securely tied there, bringing it over his head. Attached to the leather cord was a triangular silver capsule, smaller than his palm, surrounded by dangling blue glass beads. It was beautifully decorated and inscribed with a Turkish enchantment. "I have brought this to Professor Snape. It is for the goblin problem."

"What goblin problem?" asked Hermione, growing alarmed.

"I'm sure it is nothing," Viktor backtracked. Snape hadn't told them? Best to change the subject. "See inside." He snapped open the amulet to reveal a large uncut ruby that seemed to be pulsing as it glowed a fiery red.

"How gorgeous!" exclaimed Hermione. "May I touch it?"

For a moment Viktor stared stupidly, then he croaked, "Ve must find Professor Snape immediately. There are goblins in the castle!"

(**A/N**: Thank you to A. Delova for her skill in Bulgarian translation! Viktor addressed Bayly as _Bayly Antoninovitch_ according to the custom of using the father's name—and his father would have been listed in the Durmstrang records as Antonin Young.)


	50. Of Beetles and Goblins

Death Eater No More—Chapter Fifty (Of Beetles and Goblins)

She had to spoil it, didn't she? Minerva had to remind him of that pesky bitch of a bug he'd left captive in the infirmary! Severus gritted his teeth and stormed out of the Potions lab, his good mood evaporated like dew on a hot morning. Great. He'd fetch Rita, he'd change her back to human, and he'd hand her over to the aurors under a _petrificus totalus_ so she couldn't slink away. Maybe it was a little selfish of him, but he'd rather enjoyed watching Skeeter squirm.

When he entered the infirmary, the first thing he saw was a shard of broken glass near the door. A few steps in he got the full effect: the remains of the shattered jar next to the desk and no Rita in sight. He let loose a stream of profanity that could wake the dead, put a drunken sailor to shame, and get his mouth washed out with soap if his mother were still alive…not necessarily in that order.

Pacing furiously around the glass on the floor, his ranting had toned down to a rough mumble. She'd escaped! How the bloody hell had she escaped? At least she hadn't got a whiff of the antidote which would allow her to revert to her true form. If she was somewhere in the castle, there might be a chance to capture her again.

Mrs. Norris mewling at the window caught his attention; damn it all, the window was open! Surely Skeeter had flown the coop—literally! Severus watched the cat prowling back and forth on the windowsill, every so often wedging herself up to the pane and thrusting a paw through the slit of an opening…as if trying to reach something.

Snape removed his wand and tiptoed up to the window, ready to stun the beetle if she was out there. To his delighted surprise, there several inches below the window, on a branch, sat the fat black beetle with yellow antennae. She wasn't moving, and the reason why was clear: she was completely encased in a tiny ball of oozy sap.

He shooed the cat away and opened the window, plucked up the glue-like mess, and cast a silent _legilimens_ hard into Rita's eyes. There was no activity, nothing to see; the life had gone from her in a most undignified ending. To his credit, Snape genuinely felt sorry for her to die in such an awful way, engulfed and suffocated by sap. He found it ironic that she who had written so many mortifying articles about others would suffer a fate as the subject of an embarrassing obituary.

With a sigh he placed the sticky bug on the desk and put a protective charm around her. The body would be given over to the Ministry for whatever family she had.

A woman's voice over the castle speaker system startled him, mainly because it wasn't McGonagall…and that meant someone else was in his personal space. The message itself didn't exactly set him at ease.

_"Professor Snape, this is Hermione Granger. It is imperative that I speak to you in your office. Please hurry!"_

Imperative? Hmm. Well, she _was_ a Gryffindor; who knew what qualified as 'imperative' for that lot? Then again, if she'd broken into Snape's office to request his presence, it had bloody well better be important. He stalked over to the fireplace and flooed to meet her.

A distraught Granger and a distressed looking Viktor Krum greeted him, Granger running at the mouth—nothing unusual there—and Krum slapping his heels together and delivering a curt bow before shoving an amulet into Snape's hand. From the throbbing ruby alone he sensed something was terribly wrong.

"—and then Viktor opened the talisman and the ruby was glowing, which means there are goblins in the castle!" Hermione finished, gulping in air to compensate for not taking a breath throughout the spiel.

Snape froze, his mind churning. He knew what he'd heard and he knew what this amulet was for—the very reason he'd requested it—but he'd not anticipated any dealings with the creatures so soon. Making a hurried decision, he opted not to alarm the student body at this time. It would be unwise to send perhaps hundreds of students scurrying to and fro from whatever safe haven they presently occupied, be it classroom, library, or dormitory.

"Baron, Friar, Sir Nicholas, Grey Lady, I require your assistance," he called out.

They hadn't long to wait. The four ghosts drifted in through walls and ceiling from different directions to hover in the air, all of them glancing curiously from Snape to Hermione to Viktor. They weren't often called for a task.

"We have a problem," Severus said evenly. "There are goblins somewhere in the castle, I need you to search around, find where they are and report to me. If you find any students in danger, please feel free to do whatever necessary to protect them."

The Baron gave a cruel, leering smile. "Let's hope I find some of those filthy goblins."

"I'll make them _completely_ headless," declared Nearly Headless Nick.

The Grey Lady clucked her tongue and started to float away. "It's men like you two that made the world the mess it is."

"Here, here," agreed the Friar, dodging the phantom knife thrown at him by the Baron.

"I hate to interrupt your oh-so-productive blame game, but would it be too much trouble to go _now_?" drawled Snape, crossing his arms over the trout eye slime on his robes.

The Bloody Baron's lip curled, but he took off like a shot through the wall with Sir Nicholas right behind him. The Grey Lady zoomed straight up; not wanting to copy the rest, the Fat Friar sank through the floor.

Snape let out a disgusted breath and walked over to his desk where he threw himself into the chair. Did a week ever go by in this place without some emergency or other? Remembering his manners, which he _did_ possess despite the opinions of the masses, he said, "Thank you, Viktor, for bringing me the amulet."

"You are velcome, sir," replied Krum, standing at near-attention, back rigid, arms at his sides. For some reason he didn't quite fathom, Snape reminded him of the Durmstrang professors, and habit caused him to treat the wizard with the respect due one of them. Maybe it was the man's command of the Dark Arts, or the perpetual scowl, or the look in his eyes that promised evil consequences to come…or maybe all of the above cemented together with that acid tongue. Whatever the case, he deemed it best to stay off Snape's black list.

"Professor, shouldn't we be searching for goblins, alerting the teachers—_something_?" exclaimed Hermione.

"You've got my permission to seek them out, Miss Granger," returned Severus coolly. "Where will you start? I dare say you'll canvass the entire castle in a week or so, at which point our uninvited guests will likely have gone. Alerting teachers is tantamount to alerting the goblins—they do have ears, rather large ones at that." He rolled his eyes so far up into his head he got a little dizzy.

"Vhy are goblins coming to Hogvarts?" asked Viktor.

"That's a question I'd like answered as well," said Snape. "I assume they've come to steal goblin-made artifacts, of which Hogwarts is full, but my primary concern is to keep the students safe, which is why the teachers must remain wherever they are to protect their charges."

"But you just said the reason not to alert teachers—" Hermione began.

"For Merlin's sake, cannot _both_ answers be correct?" demanded Severus in exasperation. He'd rescinded Dumbledore's ban on corporal punishment of students; he wondered if there was anything in the bylaws about slapping a professor.

"Far below, far below," sang a deep voice. The uncharacteristically jovial Bloody Baron poked his head through the wooden door and smiled triumphantly as he noted he was the only ghost here. He walked the rest of his body through. "No sightings of the hideous beasts, Headmaster." He paused dramatically, drawing himself to full height. "_But_ the Mirror of Erised is missing, and there is a gaping hole in the floor, hastily filled in, stone slab left setting aside."

Snape looked down at the open talisman still clutched in his fist. The ruby was losing its fiery glow…the goblins were gone.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Griphook shivered with excitement, for the chilly night air bothered him not at all. Divesting a wizard of goblin belongings made his heart sing; robbing this particular wizard, who'd imprisoned him in the cellar and allowed him to be tortured…this would be sweet indeed. If he got the opportunity to slash the wand carrier's throat, all the better.

Along with half a dozen of his cronies, Griphook crept through the tunnel they'd been digging for days, one that stopped short of breaching the surface of the ground. Surprise was of the essence in these break-ins, especially now that the wizarding world had begun to notice something sinister. The stupid wizards were too thick to figure it out, he sniggered to himself.

And Karnak. He thought he was _so smart_, Griphook sneered under cover of the stifling darkness. When Griphook brought back a bounty of treasures from the Malfoy estate, Karnak would look like a fool in front of the rest for ordering the goblins to wait on the attack. Why wait? The place was ripe for picking…and with Karnak and his crew away at Hogwarts, there was no one to stop this raid. Then they'd all see who the true leader of this gang ought to be.

_"Ratell, denal psara alec eht gourht niog dnaru ofes eht ekat. Nassiron, emtiwe mok."_ (Ratell, take these four and go in through the cellar. Nassiron, come with me.)

While the other five shuffled off into the right branch of the tunnel, Griphook led the way along the left fork. Suddenly the incline steepened dramatically and the goblins scraped their way upward until they reached the point at which the tunnel ended abruptly. Side by side they raked at the earth with their long, powerful fingers capped by dangerously sharp, thick claws. The dirt loosened by their digging they stamped and pounded against the sides of the tunnel.

At last a waft of cold night air drifted into the hole. When it was large enough for both of them to exit at once, they did so after looking around warily. Not two meters away stood Malfoy Manor. Griphook peered over at his companion with an I-told-you-so smile on his hideous, scarred face, his sharp teeth a jagged arch in his mouth.

_"Sri ats puda wod niweht niog lew,"_ (We'll break in the window and proceed upstairs) whispered Griphook.

Nassiron nodded eagerly, the greedy expression in his eyes growing, his mouth nearly watering at how close they were to a fortune. Like Muggle children dressed in inordinately frightening and ugly costumes for Halloween, they skulked to the nearest window, one in a row of long, beautiful panes that extended almost to the floor of the mansion. Griphook motioned for Nassiron to get down, which he did on hands and knees for his comrade to stand on his back. Griphook then placed his dirt encrusted hand on the metal lock mechanism halfway up the glass and his features took on a serious, studious air.

The fixture vibrated subtly under his palm, as did all metal, for how else would a goblin tell one metal from another with his eyes closed if not for the vibration frequency, the smell, the very _feel_ of the ore? At the moment he didn't care what the lock was made of, he was searching for a faint weakness in the construction…and apart from goblin-made objects, there was always a weakness. Damned humans couldn't even do _that_ right.

And there it was. Still holding his hand on the lock, he whispered an incantation and the metal snapped into several pieces. He hopped off the other's back and bent down, and with Nassiron's help they raised the heavy window up till they could easily slip in underneath. Elated at their success, they stepped in and proceeded to gawk at the splendor. This was by far the most luxurious and extravagant home they'd burglarized.

Nassiron pointed upward; Griphook nodded. When their comrades made it into the house, they'd take care of the first level. They scurried over the marble floor in search of the staircase, long knives pulled from sheaths at their belts.

In the tunnel leading to the cellar wall, Ratell and his group had just finished digging the hole up flush with the house. He ran his hand across the foundation and scowled. The stone was extremely thick and each slab very large, which Ratell found troubling. Combining their magic they could move the stone or crush it, that wasn't the problem; its destruction could cause this part of the house to collapse from lack of support, crushing the goblins—_that_ was the problem.

_"Rool feht rednup oug lewn wodgid_," (Dig downward, we'll come up under the floor) he instructed them.

A couple of the goblins muttered insubordinate phrases that were quickly squelched by Ratell's boot to one face and his claw swipe that drew blood from the other. Without further ado they all set to digging feverishly down the remaining distance under the thick wall, and right up into the floor of the cellar.

Ratell peeked into the dark, dank room. He saw nothing, so he hoisted himself out of the hole, followed by three of his gang. The fourth was busy nursing the broken nose caused by Ratell's vicious kick and the grudge that accompanied it. He wasn't in the mood to go along anymore. He'd still get a share of the loot for helping dig the tunnel.

Before they'd gone five steps, a shrill ungodly cry rang through the cellar and six vampires dropped from the ceiling in a circle around the horrified goblins. The sound of the cry alone was enough to send the last goblin fleeing for his life down the tunnel, knowing very well the danger he ran from. He'd heard that cry once before in his life, and that was enough for him! It was not something a goblin forgot.

Upstairs, Griphook heard the cry and his blood turned to ice—vampires! But here, in the house? He stopped in his tracks as Nassiron blithely tripped up the stairs. What to do? He vacillated, then turned and bolted for the window they'd come in.

"Intruder!" shrieked Sisidy in her alarmed elfish squeak. She stretched out a hand and the blast that erupted from it propelled Griphook off his feet and all the way across the room. His overly large head collided against the far wall, knocking him senseless, and he bounced onto the floor to lie unmoving.

Mateo had reached the room mere seconds after Sisidy's outcry, and he nodded approvingly. "Well done, Sisidy. Master Malfoy will be very proud of you. Bind him if he's still alive." He flew off to check the rest of the house for infestation, silently cursing himself for allowing any of the filth to get into the house like this.

Immensely thrilled to hear her beloved master would be proud, Sisidy trussed the goblin up so tightly with ropes and magic he couldn't have moved to save his life, then she stood over him, skinny arms crossed over her bony chest, looking as menacing as an elf was capable of looking.

Mateo easily caught up with Nassiron, who upon spotting him began to run frantically down the hallway stuffing a handful of jewelry in his breast pocket. Most of it ended up on the rug. Smiling wryly at the pitiful attempt at escape, the _sangrista_ floated rapidly over the floor, dropped down in front of the goblin, and reached out in a lightning quick move that grabbed the goblin on both sides of his head and snapped his neck hard around. Nassiron sagged toward the floor, stopped from falling by Mateo's grip. He lifted the carcass under his arm and hauled him downstairs, dropping him unceremoniously beside Griphook.

"This one is dead. I'm going to look for more."

In the cellar, Esteban smiled, baring his fangs. _"Quisiera probar la sangre de un duende."_ (I'd like to try goblin blood.)

Adan made a face at the trembling beasts. "_Sangre sucia!"_ (Filthy blood!) He spat on the ground.

_"Debemos permitir uno de estos vivir—para interrogar_," (We should let one of these live—to question) said Esteban thoughtfully. Even though no one had mentioned taking prisoners, it seemed a good idea, and if not they could always slaughter them later.

He observed the bunch of grotesque creatures, noting how they all appeared to be looking to one in particular for guidance. That was clue enough. He snatched Ratell by his sparse hair and popped him in the forehead with the palm of his hand. The goblin's eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped to the floor.

_"Podeis matar a los otros_," (You can kill the rest) pronounced Esteban with a small bow to his companions. He took a pace back, kicking Ratell out of the way. They'd been here at the mansion for weeks, tensions had begun to run high…this could get ugly.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Lucius had arrived only minutes ago on the arm of Sisidy, who caressed him lovingly while describing in her elf jargon the brave deed she'd done to protect her wonderful masters and mistress and their glorious home. He'd immediately floo called Severus, who hurried over only to announce Hogwarts had suffered a break-in as well. Together Severus and Lucius descended the steep stairway into the cellar where Ratell was lying in a corner, Esteban sitting on top of him, reclining back against the wall. Mateo followed them down holding the bound Griphook by the scruff of the neck in one hand as if he weighed nothing.

"Sorry about the mess—I warned you," Mateo piped up as he tossed Griphook next to his cohort. The goblin grunted in pain as he fell.

A simple _lumos_ showed the wizards what he was talking about. Blood and body parts large and small adorned this whole section of the cellars. Mateo had assured Lucius the other sections were intact and undefiled. To be brutally honest, neither of the men had witnessed any worse, more repugnant scene as Death Eaters—comparable, maybe, but not worse.

"Every time you come around there seems to be mayhem and destruction," Lucius grumbled under his breath.

"I heard that," retorted Mateo, whose vampire ears could have heard it from all the way upstairs. "Would you prefer I leave?"

"Don't get all persnickety, you know I'm grateful for your presence," remarked Lucius sincerely. "It's the cleanup I could do without."

Grimacing in disgust, Lucius took out his wand and began scourgifying the blood from walls and ceiling as well as floor. Severus used his wand to drop body parts into the open hole in the floor, then spelled it to bury them. It seemed a shame, surely there was some part of goblins good for potion making….

When he was satisfied Lucius addressed his uncle. "Take one of them into the west end and leave one here," he instructed. "We'd like to question them one at a time, make sure we get the same answers."

With a light nod, Mateo lifted Griphook again like a sack of potatoes and headed out the door that led to a tiny vestibule where another door opened up. Breathing hard from wrath and the frightening notion that his family had been in grave danger after all, Lucius motioned at the goblin under Esteban. The vampire got up in a smooth movement and jerked Ratell to his feet.

Pointing his wand at the goblin, Lucius asked, "How did you get through the wards around my house?"

"We didn't, we went under," responded Ratell sullenly.

A stinging hex hit the goblin in the stomach and he yelped. "Try again. Somebody came in the window."

"It wasn't me, it was Griphook and Nassiron," growled the goblin, being deliberately obtuse.

Severus took a step forward. If ever he looked cruelly unpleasant, now was the time. In a smooth drawl he crooned, "My friend here is going very easy on you; he would like nothing better than to torment you into compliance. I would like nothing better than to assist him. Being former Death Eaters, we are quite well acquainted with many forms of the most vile torture. I advise you to speak while you have the chance."

The goblin's beady eyes appraised the men. They didn't seem to be pushovers like the Ministry officials…in fact, they looked kind of scary, especially the black haired one. With that hungry expression for revenge, he appeared ready to swallow the goblin. The blond—okay, he looked pretty terrifying at the moment, too, in a stone cold, pitiless kind of way. "Your inadequate wards don't work on goblins," he said, trying to act brave.

Lucius gave Snape a questioning gaze. Could it be so simple? When he thought of it, the wards didn't hinder elves…or vampires. Hell, they seemed useless against everyone except humans! "Severus, you said they got in through the floor at Hogwarts tonight?"

"Yes. How they knew where to go is a mystery."

"Not for long." Still aiming his wand, Lucius went on, "How did you find the Mirror of Erised?"

"I didn't," replied the goblin insolently. "I was here."

With a slashing movement Lucius whipped a curse across Ratell's face, making it flame red. The goblin screamed in pain, raking his hands over his blistering hot skin.

"I asked you a question," Lucius repeated softly.

"Hot! It's burning!" shrieked Ratell.

"Tell me and I'll take the pain away."

"The metal—the metal frame! Argh!" The goblin collapsed on the floor kicking his legs and hugging his head. "Please!"

Lucius lifted the curse and waited while the goblin panted a bit. There was not so much as a tiny burn to show he'd ever used a curse.

"The metal gives off vibrations…more metal, more vibrations," explained Ratell, eyeing the humans fearfully. "We can feel it through the walls, through the earth…"

Severus nodded and shrugged. It made sense. The massive Mirror of Erised had a ridiculously heavy gold frame that must sound like a siren call to goblins the closer they got to it. "Is your group planning to go back to Hogwarts?"

"I don't know, they don't tell me," sniveled Ratell. He hadn't bothered to get up off the floor.

Lucius hit him with another stinging hex. "I will be asking the same questions of your companion. If we find out you're lying, we will have to punish you most severely."

Snape's mouth curved into a smile as a delicious idea struck him. "Lucius, why don't you go interrogate the other one while I continue with our little friend here? His screams may help to loosen his comrade's tongue."

"As you wish." Lucius lowered his wand. He'd recognized the other one—Griphook—from the sword fiasco while Voldemort was alive. If the despicable creature knew what was good for him he'd answer truthfully without making things difficult for himself. But if he wanted to play hardball, Lucius could play with the big boys.

When Lucius had gone further into the cellars, Severus came to stand over Ratell, looking down with blank, cold black orbs that made the goblin need to pee very badly. A scream from afar ripped the air; Lucius had wasted no time in getting started.

Snape began to speak almost as if he were talking to himself. "Goblins are renowned for their need for honor among their peers. I ask myself, what would damage the credibility of a goblin among his fellows? What could cause him to lose self-respect and dignity, make him a laughingstock? How about this?"

He waved his wand. Ratell braced for the pain but it didn't come. Puzzled, he glared at Snape, heedless of the _sangrista_ chuckling behind him.

"What are you playing at, human?" Ratell groused.

"Have a look at your claws." Severus barely managed to suppress a smirk when the goblin glimpsed down at his hands and let out a bloodcurdling scream that echoed through the chamber and caused some slight temporary hearing loss to the wizard.

"No! No!" shrilled the goblin, shaking his mitts as if to dislodge them from his wrists. His long curved claws now sported a lovely neon pink shade with colorful flower patterns decorating the tips. Wild eyed he ranted, "They'll grow out! It'll go away."

"No, it is permanent and self-renewing," Snape assured him solemnly, rekindling the beast's howls. "Name the members of your rogue gang, and I may relent."

"I can't, they'll kill me," he whined, nibbling the end of a nail.

Severus sighed. "Very well." He flicked the wand again, then transfigured a stone into a mirror, which he held up in front of Ratell. "Care to view your teeth?"

The wails and screams exceeded even Snape's expectations. Instead of the yellowing, dirty points, Ratell now had a brand new set of bright blue, decidedly un-pointy teeth. As an added bonus Severus had spelled _I LUV U_ across the front. Ratell was hyperventilating so hard he appeared ready to faint.

"I can do this all night," intoned Severus. "I wonder what a female goblin would think of a male without any…equipment."

"NOOOOOOO!"


	51. That's Right51!

Death Eater No More—Chapter Fifty-One (That's Right, 51!)

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_Stupid, despicable humans!_ Griphook's grotesque face contorted into something altogether more hideous. Back to back, hands bound behind them, he and Ratell sat on the floor of a bare cell of some kind whose window was secured with four heavy iron rods. They knew they were at the Ministry of Magic because that's where the aurors who'd collected them from the Malfoy estate said they were going. They also expected they could look forward to more torture sessions, possibly like those they'd endured at the hands of those Death Eaters, torture that had revealed the closely guarded secret of goblins' ability to manipulate earth and metal.

They'd arrived a few scant minutes ago in the wee hours of the morning and been shoved and locked in the small room; perhaps the idiot aurors had assumed they'd sit there like good little goblins and wait for the interrogators to show up. Not likely. The incredibly dense humans apparently hadn't been listening when Malfoy and Snape told them of what they'd learned—in fact, the aurors had quite rudely informed the wizards that they'd question the 'suspects' and find out what they needed to know themselves. When Malfoy insisted he had important information, the aurors condescendingly brushed him off with looks that said they'd rather eat rusty nails than trust a Death Eater.

_"Meht kaerb dnas el cana mym nodnah rou yecalp,"_ (Put your hand on my handcuffs and shatter them) Griphook growled to his cohort.

Without hesitation Ratell began to fumble across the other's bonds with claws Snape had blessedly restored to their original beauty, trying to finger the warm metal, to find the right spot. Focusing hard, he searched out the inherent weakness in these cuffs that proved sturdier than the ordinary. Finally he whispered the incantation and the metal snapped with a 'pop'.

Griphook shook them off, turned around, and grasped Ratell's bindings in one hand. Due to his far greater experience in these matters, seconds later the shackles dropped to the floor. Together they scurried to the window, lifting themselves on tiptoe to look out. They were only on the second floor, if they could remove these bars and open the window they'd be free! Their strong fingers would make climbing down the short distance a cinch.

As Griphook took hold of one of the iron rods, running his hands over it, Ratell stroked the cement binding the bar into the stone wall, and his ugly face brightened. Mortar consisted of earth elements, simple enough to shift in small quantities, especially with combined magic.

_"Griphook, tolaf liwod niwdnas rab eht ratrom eht eg dol sidewfi,"_ (Griphook, if we dislodge the mortar the bars and window will fall out) he said excitedly.

His comrade grunted assent, they laid their hands on the stone and mortar, and they began to hum a low pitched kind of drone. At first there seemed to be no effect, then the stone started to vibrate infinitesimally; a sharp crack appeared in the cement. Soon the mortar was crumbling so fast they had to stop what they were doing to catch the falling bars and window pane lest they clink together or break and alert someone outside.

Carefully they set the bars and glass on the floor. Ratell hoisted Griphook up, and he in turn stretched out an arm to help the other goblin into the window frame. They studied the wall outside briefly in the pre-dawn darkness, looking for jutting stones to use as handholds and footholds, then sprang against the wall for their climb down to freedom.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

While he hadn't exactly anticipated a joyous reception from the goblin gang, Griphook had hoped for better than what he got. He and Ratell arrived, sweaty and exhausted and still in pain from the Malfoy incident, only to come across the group in the process of moving their food supply out of the lovely, cavernous chamber they'd created for their hideout. The Mirror of Erised was nowhere to be seen.

_"Nog niog sitaw?"_ (What's happening?) he exclaimed.

_"Sud nifot erew onk liwsnamuh eht! Oyots knaht evomote va hew,"_ (We have to move, thanks to you! The humans know where to find us) snarled a goblin with a scrubby beard and a heavy pack on his back.

Another walking by—the one whose nose Ratell had broken—spat, "_Erehg nimoc mehts wosrorim eht."_ (The Mirror shows them coming here). From the side his swollen nose seemed to take a crooked uphill turn and both his eyes had black circles round them.

Ratell stiffened and looked past Griphook, who turned cautiously. A hard slap that knocked him on his rump came out of nowhere, and then Karnak stalked up to him and kicked him in the ribs.

"I told you to wait, didn't I?" growled the leader in human-speak. He kicked the other goblin again. "I told you we would get the Mirror and consult it, I _told you_!" His foot pounded over and over on Griphook, who'd rolled himself into a ball to avoid the worst damage.

"_Ezi golo pai!"_ (I'm sorry!) Griphook groaned as the boot collided against the side of his head.

There was one final vicious kick to the spine, then Karnak drew back breathing heavily and eyeing Griphook. They'd had spats before over where to attack, who to take along—all the usual disagreements, but until this exhibition of monumental hubris he hadn't dreamed Griphook would subvert his authority that far. Griphook's bid for power had cost four goblins their lives. It was partly their fault, of course, they'd gone along with it knowing full well Karnak's order. Still, it was hard enough to attract loyal followers without them considering the possibility of death. To top off his ire, Malfoy Manor had to be slashed off the list of potential targets; with vampires as guards, it was simply too dangerous. The Mirror had shown another bloodbath when asked of attacking there again.

Karnak pulled at the tip of his exceptionally long nose. Griphook was talented and very clever, and one of the few who spoke human language as well as he did himself. As long as he fell in line, he'd be a great asset, and it would be a shame to kill him. "I'll give you one more chance. If you disobey again, I'll butcher you myself and make a vest out of your skin. Get up and help move the supplies, we don't have much time!"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Udo Nott peered over the top of the daily paper he was reading at the now nearly-unoccupied breakfast table. Every so often Rodolphus liked to slip into town under disguise and pinch whatever he could to keep up with the news. "Where are you going, son?"

Theo stopped short right before reaching the back door and turned around, his caustic attitude conveying the frustration of being confined for weeks on end. "I'm just going outside, is that alright or do I need a notarized authorization?"

His father lowered the newspaper so the young man could fully appreciate his displeasure. "One: you will not speak to me in that tone again. Two: you don't have work today, so there's no reason to be leaving."

Theo bit back an involuntary desire to shout. He was sick and tired of being cooped up here in the middle of nowhere, not allowed to leave except to go to work, not even to see Jacinta. He secretly owled her whenever he dared, while cautioning her not to write back (lest his parents discover he'd been flouting their orders); he was grounded, punished, that meant no friends, no fun, no _anything_. He'd been permitted a single owl after his thrashing to explain to her the situation, only he couldn't bring himself to tell her the truth, it was too embarrassing and she'd probably be angry with him.

"Dad, when can I go home? I learned my lesson, I won't play that stupid game ever again," Theo pleaded. If his mother had been in the room he'd have given the big-eyed puppy look, but it never worked on his father.

"Your mum and I don't think it's a good idea. Besides the fact that we can't trust you alone, it seems there've been goblins breaking into homes," Nott explained. "It isn't safe."

"So I have to stay here _forever_?" balked the lad. "That's not fair—and I won't!" He jerked open the door, which instantly wrenched itself from his hand and slammed shut, courtesy of the wand in his father's hand. Theo gulped and his eyes grew wide, not in a pitiful puppy-dog way.

"If you're angling for another whipping, you're about this far from it," stated Nott, holding up thumb and index finger an inch apart. "Your grounding is for one month, that hasn't changed. Once your time is up you can see your friends and do whatever you like, except you'll still live here until I know it's safe to let you go back." He tossed the newspaper at Theo, who caught it and read the top headline: _Malfoy Manor Attacked by Goblins_.

"Are-are they alright?" asked the boy hesitantly, eyes rapidly scanning the text.

"You know Lucius, he was prepared. The Notts, however, don't have vampires to stand guard for us at the estate." Nott got up from the table. Immediately Nels and Ditsy, the house elf from their manor, jumped in to clear the dishes. "I don't know what you're complaining about. Even if this place is smaller than ours, you've got two house elves and loads of free time."

Theo wisely thought it best to keep his opinion to himself. He didn't care about house elves, he didn't want free time, he wanted _Jacinta_. "Yes, sir," he mumbled. "May I go outside now?"

Nott gave a nod and a wave of his hand, then he sauntered into the next room to look for Fidelia. His son stepped out onto the sturdy new back porch Rodolphus had built to replace the sagging one whose dangerous hole Missy had nearly fallen through several days ago. That singular act had prompted the man to begin fixing up not only the porches but a multitude of rundown parts of the structure. In addition to repairing the house, it gave him an outlet for his despondency over Rabastan's absence.

Theo circled the house to find Rodolphus kneeling on the front porch pulling nails out of floorboards. "Need help?"

The older wizard was about to refuse, then he gave a lazy smile. "Sure, why not? We need to rip up all the floorboards, so you'd better seal the front door or somebody's gonna come through and fall on their arse." He chuckled to think of it.

Obligingly Theo charmed the door so it wouldn't open, though he curiously observed Rodolphus prying up nails with a hammer and forcibly yanking boards out of their slots and tossing them in a pile in the yard. "Why don't you use magic?"

"It feels better this way. Manual labor is good for you," Rodolphus assured him. He handed the hammer to Theo, who seemed at a loss as to how to use it. "Turn it around—yeah, like that. Slide the groove on the back of the hammer up under the nail's head and pull the handle down."

A nail almost miraculously extricated itself and plopped onto the porch. Theo grinned as if he'd won some sort of important competition and removed the next nail, then jerked the board up and threw it on the pile. "This is kind of fun."

"Yeah, it is. You take out the nails, I'll take care of the boards, it goes faster that way. Later you can help me build a new porch, and I'll even let you paint it!"

Although Theo had never lifted a paintbrush in his life, it sounded exciting—not because he was bored to tears but because he enjoyed the prospect of creating. There was something fascinating about working like a Muggle, a thought he'd never in a million years express around this household. If Rodolphus was trying to make painting sound like recreation to spare himself the work, he needn't have bothered; Theo happily accepted the task. He continued along the porch plying up nails, gathering momentum as his skill and confidence increased.

"Theo?"

Both men whirled, startled at the unexpected voice. Out of habit, Rodolphus had his wand trained on her before she could blink. Seeing who it was, he lowered it slowly as he chided, "Don't sneak up on people, Jacinta. Snape can get away with it; until you can fight like he does you'd better watch yourself."

"Sorry. I'll remember that, Rodolphus," she answered, swallowing the heart that had leaped into her throat. "I came to see Mr. and Mrs. Nott…I guess I wasted my time, it looks like Theo is just fine." She backed up in embarrassed confusion and spun around to go. All this time she'd been worried about him and here he was going about his life like she didn't even exist, save the occasional owl!

Theo dropped the hammer, hopped over the railing, and latched onto her arm before she could apparate away. "Cinta, don't go! What's wrong?"

She wheeled on him, icy blocks of blue where her eyes ought to be. "What's _wrong_? You've been 'unavailable' for weeks, you told me not to owl you, and it looks like you're doing great without me. I can take a hint." She tried to shake off the grip on her wrist.

"It's not like that," he murmured, shooting a glimpse over at Rodolphus, who was watching the couple unabashedly. "My—I'm kind of—um…"

"Just tell the truth, kid," piped up Rodolphus, who'd learned the hard way how secrets could destroy a relationship. Rabastan had yet to come back or make contact since he'd run off. "Your dad beat your ass and grounded you here, that's why you're never around."

A red wave washed over Theo's face, starting at the neck and running clear up into his dark hair. "Thanks a lot," he snapped. "I could've told her."

"Could've, but wouldn't," retorted Rodolphus. Another cracking sound as a board broke free and sailed into the pile.

Aghast, Jacinta's demeanor softened noticeably and she slid her hand into his with a squeeze. "What happened?"

Tempted to lead her off to privacy, yet convinced Rodolphus would trot along beside them and spill the whole story anyway, he said, "They found out I was playing Muggle. I got it for stealing and for insulting you."

"Insulting me?"

"Mum and dad thought I was making fun of you because you're part Muggle." The dark crimson in his face deepened to near apoplectic red. "I wasn't, I swear, it was….you know I wasn't."

"I know. I'm kind of surprised, though; I thought your dad despised non-purebloods," she ventured, somewhat puzzled.

"As a rule, he does…but he likes _you_." Theo had gathered the courage to pull her into a hug, which she didn't resist. "Anyway, I have to stay here for a month—or longer now that stupid goblins are on the prowl," he lamented.

Suddenly animated, Jacinta nodded, "Papa said they stole the Mirror of Erised from Hogwarts! He has no idea why they'd want it, except maybe all that metal on the frame."

"Seems like a lot of trouble to go through for metal they can get anywhere," said Rodolphus, no longer making a pretense of working.

"It's gold," said Theo, turning to face Rodolphus. "They can make a lot of money from it."

"Selling it, you mean?"

Theo shook his head solemnly. "Minting it. Didn't you know the goblins who run Gringotts also make the money?"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Chad, wait up!" called a hefty thirty-something man lumbering up the Malfoy walk carrying a large camera slung over his neck.

The other stopped. He was a man fifty years of age, ordinary in every respect—height, weight, coloring. There existed not a distinguishing thing about him to pick him out of a crowd, not even his bland grey robes. He scowled and said, "Chadwick. The name is Chad. Wick. How hard is that to remember?"  
The first man laughed outright, vexing Chadwick further. "You squeeze that arse any tighter and it's liable to implode."

"I'd fire you if you weren't the best photographer we have," sniffed Chadwick. Inwardly he groused at the 'Chad' appellation. He despised the name, it was so…plebeian. _He_ was a pureblood who wore his name proudly…except the surname, which served as an unfortunate constant reminder of his ancestors' unpopular vocation as tax collectors. While they'd done well enough for themselves monetarily, the occupation was unfit for someone of _his_ sort. He'd raised his place in the world and in the eyes of his fellow wizards, and he expected the respect of his subordinates.

When the elf finally got around to bringing the master of the house, Chadwick smiled brightly and gushed, "Mr. Malfoy, how wonderful to see you again!"

Lucius studied him through half-lidded eyes. "We've met?"

"Well, not formally," chattered the other, offering a hand that Lucius briefly debated over and then shook. "I'm Chadwick Tolman, editor of the _Daily Prophet_. We've been to some of the same society affairs—you know, the ones those uncultured citizens aren't invited to." He wrinkled his nose as if said citizens had an odor problem.

_And you managed to finagle an invitation __how__? Oh yes, by the free press they would receive._ Come to think of it, Tolman may well have been here in the manor for various events over the years, though Lucius sincerely did not recognize the face. "And what brings you here, Mr. Tolman?"

"Call me Chadwick. Surely you've read the article written three days ago about the goblin invasion at this very home," said Chadwick, not pausing for an answer. "I'm sad to say it was clearly from the Ministry's point of view, more of a fact sheet dropped into our laps and requested to be printed. Which brings me to why I'm here: I'd like to do a human interest follow-up piece with _your_ story, Mr. Malfoy."

"How do I know this story won't end up like the other one?" inquired Lucius calmly, not budging from the doorway. The article three days ago hardly constituted true reporting.

"Because I'll be writing and editing it start to finish, which I do only with the most genteel and important families. A wizard of your breeding and prestige deserves no less. Why, I recall interviewing your father once…a splendid man of the highest class."

Thanks to years of proper training, Lucius kept a straight face throughout the obsequious kowtowing. As much as he abhorred fraternizing with pompous ninnies, they often came in handy—like now. In the dry Ministry account of the goblin attack, there had been no mention of the warning Lucius had given them weeks in advance regarding his suspicion that goblins were breaking into homes and murdering people. Nor had they seen fit to acknowledge that they'd let the goblin prisoners escape before even questioning them, which infuriated him no end. The people had a right to know what they were up against: goblins can go through wards, goblins manipulate metal…and he had a list of goblin names the Ministry had at least taken, whether they planned to do anything about it or not.

Lucius had given them the list only after he'd done what he could: he'd gathered Rodolphus, Marshal, Severus, and Nott the day after the break-in and they'd apparated to the spot above the chamber Griphook had told them concealed the gang. Their wands had made short work of exploding the area to find the cavern, only to find it vacant, though there were signs of habitation very recently. Luck thing for the goblins, since the men had planned to wipe the pests from the face of the earth.

Time to set the record straight and let the people know what was really going on. Lucius flashed his most appealing smile and gestured for both men to come in. "Please do come in, Mr. Tolman. I believe you'll be very interested in what I have to say. Did I mention a cover-up?" He smirked to himself at the way Tolman nearly drooled at the term. "If you don't mind dark confined spaces, I'd also like to introduce you to my relative, Mateo Malfoy."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Potter was staring at him again. Snape curled his lip in disgust and turned away, but it didn't help. He still felt the annoying pinpricks of the Brat-Who-Lived's eyes on the back of his skull. Damn the whelp, had he invented a new curse to torment the Headmaster?

The absurdity of the idea that Harry freaking Potter was capable of inventing a comb for his Medusa-esque hair—let alone a curse—forced out a guffaw before he could stop it. Minerva spun towards him in alarm, along with half the teachers at the staff table in the Great Hall, and a good number of students at nearby tables.

"Severus, are you choking?' McGonagall exclaimed, rising and bending over him. "Wave your hand for yes. Poppy!"

"I am not choking, Minerva," he snarled through clenched teeth. Now even those pupils who hadn't heard his hapless expression of merriment were staring. "I was _laughing_."

Obviously he was delusional. The old witch merely furrowed her brow into a wrinkly mess of concern. "Are you sure you're feeling well? Poppy!"

"I am _fine_." Too late. Here came Madame Pomfrey scurrying over with a worried expression. Thank God she wasn't carrying her medical bag or she might decide to dose him with some 'preventive'.

"Severus, is something wrong?" Automatically she felt his forehead for fever.

"Would you two stop clucking over me like mother hens!" he hissed, feeling color rising in his cheeks. The silence in the hall was deafening as students waited to see what ailment had befallen the Headmaster. He wouldn't put it past some of them to place bets on it. "Go back to your supper." At length chatter began to pick up again and he muttered, "This is all your fault, Potter."

Since Hermione had chosen to go eat at the Gryffindor table with Viktor, it gave a clear shot at Harry, who heard his name and glanced over sullenly. "What about me?"

_Stop staring at me or I will remove your eyeballs from their sockets and pickle them for a decoration on my desk!_ Egads, had he said that out loud? No? Good…never make threats you intend to keep in front of witnesses. "Might I inquire, Mr. Potter, what it is you find so fascinating or enticing about me that you can't tear your eyes away?"

Never one for subtlety, Harry replied in a sulking tone, "There were goblins in the castle and you didn't even tell me."

"Am I in the habit of confiding in you, Potter? Because if I have begun to do so in a stupor of some sort, it might behoove me to have Poppy check me over after all," Snape retorted dryly.

"I would have looked for them, maybe even saved the Mirror of Erised!"

_Yes, that piece of junk that causes men to waste away in front of it—we can't do without that, can we?_ Severus raised his eyebrows, stifling another chuckle that would undoubtedly send his coworkers into the throes of panic. "I wasn't aware you were also the designated goblin slayer. I'd have thought Voldemort was enough even for your immense ego." He couldn't resist an additional dig, and leaned over conspiratorially. "In case you weren't mindful of the fact, goblins don't carry wands. _Expelliarmus_ is not particularly useful."

Harry sputtered incoherently, which Severus took to be his typical answer. He stood up and walked behind Aline, feeling very chipper. "Miss Conn, may I speak with you, please?"

Going out the side door into an empty corridor, he waited for Aline to join him, her bemused expression a delight to his eyes. He had to do it now before he let good sense get the best of him; if he could stand up to Voldemort day after day while playing the part of a hardened Death Eater, surely he could act nonchalant while speaking to Aline.

"Aline, have you ever been to London?"

"London? No, not unless you count Diagon Alley. Why?" Maybe he'd discovered a rare herb or potion ingredient at a shop! Muggles had herbal remedies…but it wasn't a secret, why come out here for that?

"It's beautiful at night." _Say it , Snape, be brave, just say the bloody words!_ "I'd like to show you around, perhaps grab some fish and chips in lieu of the dinner we're missing." _You can do it—finish it, damn you!_ "And maybe take a stroll along the Thames." _There, was that so hard?_ He held his breath, waiting.

Aline paused, utterly disconcerted. It sounded like a personal invitation, yet with Snape it was honestly hard to tell. Was it a jaunt as colleagues or something more? She hated to accept, only to find out he was intent on showing her wild herbs on the bank of the river which, while interesting, would be a huge disappointment. When in doubt, ask. "Severus, are you asking me on a date?" Already she felt herself flushing with embarrassment in anticipation of his scoffing answer at her silliness.

"Yes, I am."

Aline let out her breath in a nervous laugh. "I'd like that very much."

Severus smiled, an honest to goodness real smile that made him look ten years younger, his relief as palpable as hers. "Well, good. Let me tell Minerva where I'm going in case of an emergency and we'll be off."

His heart seemed to skip a beat as he went back into the Great Hall to give Minerva the goblin talisman. He doubted the beasts would be back, not so soon at any rate, since the Ministry had sent dozens of aurors to patrol the school and grounds; Severus had made sure the Minister understood the ramifications if a child was hurt or killed and no aurors had been there to protect them after being apprised of the situation. For now he just wanted to concentrate on having a good time…if only he could remember how.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

The date had gone about as perfect as Snape could hope for, despite the number of odd looks they got from Muggles until they'd transfigured their robes. They'd walked for hours, and discussed multitudes of subjects, and laughed like teenagers. It had gotten to the point where Severus was sure it had to be a dream, nice things like this simply did not happen to him. And Aline, she positively glowed…yet another sign that it wasn't real. When was the last time any enchanting woman had willingly spent hours alone with him?

Talk had naturally—or unnaturally, as the case may be—turned to dueling at some point in the conversation. Aline had playfully suggested they battle each other, and being the good sport he was (read: unable to turn down a fight for fear of looking like a coward) he'd acceded while resolving in his mind to go easy on her. They apparated to the outer boundary of Hogwarts and came in near the Forbidden Forest.

"No disfiguring or lethal spells," he said, confirming their agreement.

"Of course." Aline snapped her wrist and her wand shot out into her hand. "Bayly has one of these wrist holsters, very convenient," she said. "I'm glad I bought one."

They moved apart and bowed, then Aline rose up throwing silent spells at a rate that stunned the wizard. He parried and dodged while casting hexes back at her, hexes she adeptly turned aside.

"You surprise me, Miss Conn," he drawled, black eyes sparkling, having the time of his life.

"We're back to 'Miss Conn', are we?" she smirked. Her Slytherin charges were definitely having an impact on her smirks and sneers. Another two curses sailed his way.

He ducked one and blocked the other. "I've only ever known one witch who could compete with you on the battlefield, and she was a psychotic bitch," Severus mentioned, then mentally kicked himself. That probably didn't sound very complimentary. He tossed several spells in a row, none of them 'going easy on her' as he'd expected to do—and was strangely grateful not to _have_ to do.

Aline deftly jumped out of the way, avoiding all but one, which she flicked away like an annoying bug. "Not sure where you're headed with that statement, but I'll say thank you anyway," she snickered. How this reminded her of dueling with her brother as youngsters!

Back and forth it went, getting faster and more furious, until both duelers were exhausted from parrying, jumping, dodging, waving, ducking. At last Severus cast three curses in a row, anticipating the direction she'd leap and aimed precisely there. Aline turned aside the first and second as she jumped out of the stream of fire; the third caught her on the heel and blew her leg out from under her. Before she'd hit the ground Severus cast a _stupefy_ to finish her off.

He strode over to make sure he hadn't injured her; even with his lack of social graces he knew that wouldn't bode well for a relationship. _"Ennervate."_

Aline moaned and sat up, peering at the hand he extended to her. Smiling wryly at being beaten fair and square, she grasped ahold of him, froze for a second while her eyes went glassy, then let him help her to her feet. "Well played, Severus. I've rarely had such competition—or such an exciting first date."

"Does that mean you're amenable to a second date?"

"I believe it does." Aline brushed off the grass from her robes and frowned at the grass stains. It was hard to get them out of silk, she felt bad for the house elves. "I should probably go in, I need to prepare for tomorrow's classes." She turned to walk off, beckoning him to follow.

Instead Severus grasped her wrist, gently stopping her and turning her back. Though his heart rate from dueling had subsided, it was clamoring overtime now. "If I may be so bold, it's customary here to end an enjoyable date with a kiss."

Aline's lips curled into a smile. "It's customary in America, too."

"Well…we wouldn't want to break tradition," Severus whispered, pulling her in close.

She tilted her chin up, her breathing coming in shallow gulps. Severus took her head delicately between his hands, bent down, and brushed his lips softly on hers, so softly they barely touched. Aline responded by snaking a hand up behind his head, thrilled by the soft, silky hair she twisted in her fist as she pulled him to her, mashing their lips together in a fit of ardor. His restraint unleashed, Severus pressed himself against her, one hand sliding behind her waist, his mouth hungrily devouring hers.

They snogged at length until Severus forced himself away, panting. He couldn't ever recall having such a glorious date even with Glenna. And truth be told, his many years of living like a monk had made him nearly forget the sensation of pants stretched uncomfortably tight on account of a woman . However, Aline had made no indication she wished to go further at this time, and he respected that. "I believe you have work to do, Aline. I'll walk you to your quarters."

Before leaving her in the doorway to her room, he bent in for one last kiss. When he'd gone, Aline shut the door and leaned against it, grinning for all she was worth. That had been the best date ever! And he was an exceptionally good kisser besides. The only thing bringing down her euphoria was that nagging vision she'd got when Severus had helped her up off the ground.

She mused aloud in the quiet room, "Who is this 'Lily' brat who fed you a love potion when you were a little boy?"


	52. Revelations

Death Eater No More—Chapter Fifty-Two (Revelations)

_"Minerva, you were Severus' teacher when he attended Hogwarts. Do you remember if he had a little redheaded girlfriend named Lily?"_

That one innocent query was all it took for Aline to find out the identity of the potion-making minx of her vision, a girl who turned out to be none other than Harry Potter's mother! She and Severus had been friends, Minerva informed Aline, they'd had a falling out, and Lily had gone on to marry James Potter. What a small world, to find Harry working alongside Severus.

At first reflection, the vision had seemed such a trivial matter, a page torn from Severus' past as a boy. Years of practice, however, had trained Aline to understand that none of her visions were ever trivial—all of them held some degree of significance to those involved whether they recognized it or not. For that reason it had preyed on her mind and she'd turned it over and over, always returning to the nagging question: had Severus ever taken the antidote? She could guess with relative accuracy that he had _not_ based on bits and pieces of other memories that had latched into her mind, pieces in which he still appeared smitten with the bitch—er, witch.

Why had he not taken the antidote? He was a Potions master, for crying out loud! How hard could it be for him? Unless he _wanted_ to be in love with Lily forever, which seemed downright bizarre considering she'd married someone else and was currently _dead_.

Aline heaved a sigh and closed the door to her quarters as she entered the corridor. A small group of Slytherins on their way to breakfast greeted her warmly and she smiled and greeted them back, though her heart felt heavy. One of the firstie girls took her hand to walk with her; it warmed through the chill settling over her soul. How she'd come to love her snakes!

When they reached the Great Hall the students made a beeline for their tables, leaving Aline in the entrance. She looked up at the staff table where so far only Professor Flitwick was seated; Severus hadn't arrived yet. Out in the hallway students seemed to be scuttling for cover and the reason soon became obvious—Snape was strolling along wearing a relaxed, amused smirk that the children evidently weren't used to. They seemed as if afraid he'd devoured one pupil and was on the hunt for another, though to be fair to them his good moods were historically rare and generally coincided with punishing troublemakers in a most grievous fashion.

"Good morning, Aline," he said brightly, eyeing her up and down like a wolf on the prowl. Maybe the children weren't so far off! School rules be damned, he'd love to bend her back and snog her silly right there in front of the whole lot of them. "Why aren't you at the staff table?"

"I just got here," she answered distractedly. "I wanted to discuss something with you in private, but it can wait." All of a sudden she didn't have an overwhelming desire to know. Knowledge was overrated—ignorance is bliss, didn't the Muggles say? She turned and practically trotted across the Hall with Severus on her heels.

His longer strides allowed him to catch up without an all-out sprint after her, and he managed to zip in front, cutting her off from the teachers' table. Brows dipping severely, he murmured so only she could hear, "Is this about last night?"

"No! Yes—no—how can I answer that when it's both?" she cried. The haunted expression in her face made Severus wince. What had he done wrong? "I had a vision," she went on, oblivious to his wondering. While it had been truly more than one vision, she'd rather stick with the one bothering her at the moment.

"Ah." Severus stepped back one pace, extending his hand in a gesture at the side door. His insides puckered painfully as he speculated on what horrible event she'd witnessed…there had been so many. Torture sessions with Voldemort, murders by Death Eaters—it could be any number of awful things. "Let's go to my office and talk."

The all-encompassing, suffocating silence couldn't have been more oppressive if it tried. They walked down the corridors and up the steps to his office with nary a word between them, with only the occasional patrolling auror or student's muffled footfalls on the stone to break the quiet.

Once they were safely sequestered in Snape's office, he looked upon her with a fierce longing to caress the smooth skin of her face, to take that blasted ponytail down so he could run his hands through her hair, snatch her up and resume where they'd left off last night. First things first. They'd resolve this problem, then have a little fun before breakfast. "Tell me what you saw."

"You as a firstie here at Hogwarts. You were with Lily, she was making a potion she found in _Witches Weekly_…a love potion." Aline anticipated some sort of reaction, yet Snape merely stared impassively back at her with blank black orbs.

Love potion? Here he'd been worried that she'd seen a soul-scarring traumatic scene and she was babbling about love potions? To top it off, he had no recollection whatsoever of the event. Slowly he replied, "I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't remember that."

"You have a pensieve, don't you?" asked Aline. Severus led her around to the basin perched on a pedestal hidden behind the barrier. Aline marched deliberately over, fuming inside. _Don't remember, my ass! How do you forget something like that?_ Touching her wand to her temple, she carefully withdrew the memory in a silvery strand and dropped it in the liquid. "There it is."

Severus strode over and plunged his face into the pensieve. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised, yet he was. There was his eleven-year-old self with Lily in the Potions lab; Lily had brewed what he now, as an adult, recognized as a concoction often drunk by couples in an arranged marriage when they wished to be in love. She'd cajoled him to taste it, he'd protested it wasn't necessary since he already loved her, but she'd given that little pout as she wheedled at him, and he'd taken a spoonful. As far as he was concerned, that had been the end of it.

The analytical side of him kicked into gear. That potion was legal only because to be effective it must be taken with the knowledge and consent of the 'victim'. And it was permanent, unless one drank the antidote. His eyes roamed over the ingredients strewn over the table. Where was the lichen slime? In its place he spied a leaf-like portion of the plant. If Lily had made a substitution—and evidently she had—the mixture wouldn't be perfect; that would account for his ability to love other women while still feeling the inevitable pull of the love potion.

He wrenched himself from the memory feeling slightly abashed and very strange. It was oddly unnerving to see himself with Lily from an outside perspective, and more so while re-discovering he'd been under the influence of a powerful love potion all these years! In short, it rattled him to the core. How could he have been so foolish—well, yes, he had been only eleven—but how could he _forget_? He'd done it only to placate Lily, it had meant nothing to him and he'd not even really thought it would work, that's how…and yet it had affected everything in his life!

Severus raised his eyes to Aline, one of the few times in his existence he was at a loss for words. By now he knew her to be as unerring as a Potions mistress could get, there was no doubt she'd evaluated the entire scene in her mind before coming to him with it; she understood the ramifications of what he'd done every bit as much as he did. She just kept looking at him, expecting him to say something, and all he wanted to do was hide his head in shame for his reckless action.

Finally he choked out, "It was so unimportant to me at the time…I never thought of it again."

Aline tried not to roll her eyes. _Typical man._ "We know what potion she used, Severus. Making the antidote will be straightforward," she said, studying him like a bug under glass. He looked peaked, had a faraway gaze in his eyes.

Mistaking his silence for ambivalence over whether to brew the potion at all, she froze inside. Was that it—he didn't want to be free? In a sudden fit of pique she snapped, "If that's what you want, of course. Far be it from me to tell you what to do." If he wanted to be under a dead woman's spell, so be it! Why should she care?

"Aline," he began softly, then stopped. He hadn't a clue what to say, the thoughts running through his head were whirling so fast he felt a bit dizzy. He grasped at his greatest fear of this whole awful situation and blurted, "If I take the antidote and find I still love Lily, that would mean it was real all along." And it would ruin everything for us like it did for Glenna and me!

Not so easily brushed off, Aline countered, "And if the love which has chained you all these years goes away, you'll know the potion was to blame. It's not my decision. All I can say is that as long as Lily has your heart, there's not much point in trying to build anything between us, is there?" Before he had the chance to formulate a response, she hurried out the door.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Hermione, you promised I could choose," Viktor pleaded as he led the reluctant young woman onto the Quidditch pitch. "It is my last day here."

"I'm having second thoughts," admitted Hermione, planting her feet and pulling back against the hand holding hers. "It's too cold—and high—and incredibly dangerous—"

Viktor stopped walking. His formerly excited countenance reverted back to the sullen brood his fans were used to seeing, and his shoulders slumped a bit more. "As you vish. I vill not force you. I thought you trusted me."

Hermione's head jerked up. "I _do_ trust you, Viktor."

The wizard lifted his new Wind Cleaver broom in a helpless shrug. "But you von't fly vith me. I have not fallen from my broom since I vas six!"

One could almost see Hermione's mind swirling. She hated flying—no, she feared and hated it. But Viktor was one of the very best flyers in the world; if she wasn't safe with him, she wouldn't be safe with anyone. And he wanted so badly to take her on a flight, to show her _his_ world…he'd been so good about listening to her go on about her job, and sitting through her Muggle Studies classes pretending to be interested—or maybe he truly was interested.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she whispered, "Promise you won't let me fall."

Leaning in to her ear, her hair tickling his nose, he whispered, "I promise." Smiling like a Cheshire cat, he set down his broom and took a thin scarlet ribbon from his pocket. "I need to tie your hair so it von't get in my eyes."

Stomach fluttering, Hermione turned around to let him carefully gather her hair at the nape of her neck, slide the ribbon underneath, and bind the hair expertly and quickly. "You do that very well. How many girls' hair have you tied back?" she joked nervously.

"Two—you and my baby sister Binka," he responded, still grinning. He _accio_'d the broom and swung one leg over it, then held out his arm to her.

Hermione moved over woodenly, hesitantly lifted one leg over the broom, settled down in front of him, and clutched the handle in a death grip with both hands. Viktor wrapped his right arm snugly around her waist, drawing her in close.

"Is it necessary to sit quite this clo—aaarrgghh!"

Viktor kicked off and they shot into the air.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Roughly an hour later Viktor made a gentle landing just outside the main entrance to Hogwarts. Once Hermione's screams had died down and she opened her eyes, she'd genuinely begun to get pleasure from being so high above the ground as they zoomed over woods and pastures; it was rather like an airplane ride on a bicycle. She'd even been grateful for his supportive arm crooked around her, his warm body pressed to hers—purely for the temperature aspect, naturally. As agreed, he'd refrained from any fancy maneuvering for his own sake as well as Hermione's…he really wasn't in the mood to plunge to his death because she was a scaredy cat.

He had yet to let go of her as they stood straddling his broom in the yard. "Vell, how did you like it?"

"I—I loved it," she confessed, struggling to turn around to face him. "I wish we'd done this years ago to help me get over my fear."

"Me, too," he uttered. His ears still rang somewhat from her terrified screams, but when all was said and done she'd enjoyed the trip maybe as much as he had. A perfect end to his trip to Britain—almost perfect. Without warning he leaned toward her and planted a kiss on her lips.

Hermione jerked backward in shock, blinking rapidly. "Viktor! I told you I'm seeing Ron."

"But vhy?"

_Why_? The word hung in the air for several seconds. How many people had asked her that very question and she'd been hard pressed to convince them of the truth? "Because he's clever and kind and…and affectionate." Did that sound rehearsed? Or pitiful?

Viktor's mouth twisted with disbelief. The redhead _clever_? From his point of view, Ron was a dolt of the highest order. And _kind_? Not from anything he'd observed while visiting several years ago, not unless thoughtless and rude now constituted 'kind'. It was possible Ron had changed—not likely, but possible.

"I can be all that and more for you, Hermione. I vould vorship you as you deserve."

"I don't want to be worshipped, Viktor," she said in a low voice. "I care very much for you, but I think I'm in love with Ron. I'm sorry."

There was another brief silence as Viktor gazed down into the grass. His hand rested even yet on Hermione's hip. "And you could not love me?"

"I do love you, in a different way," she assured him, both her hands taking his and causing the broom to fall to the ground. "But it would be unfair to Ron for me to pursue a relationship with you. Can't we still be good friends?"

"Vith von condition," he replied. Here he looked up to meet her eyes. "If you decide you don't vant him, you come to me…let me love you."

Her eyes sparkling with tears, Hermione nodded. "Thank you for understanding. Thank you for everything." She threw her arms round his neck, unaware of Harry's presence as he peered down at the pair from the window of his quarters.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

In the main sitting room of Malfoy Manor, Draco lounged sprawled in one of the armchairs looking pensive while Mateo glided up and down the room holding Ladon, rocking him and talking in his soothing voice. The normally docile baby had been fussing and balking at his brother, prompting Draco to call Mateo for back-up after half an hour of trying to calm the child himself.

"That's a good boy," crooned the vampire to the sleepy tot. "Do you want Uncle Mateo to sing you another song?"

Ladon's grey eyes opened halfway and he smiled lazily before babbling something incoherent. Within two minutes, accompanied by Mateo's lilting Spanish lullaby, the tyke had finally fallen asleep.

"You have a lovely way with babies, Mateo," said Thalia, her head cocked and a sad smile gracing her lips as she watched the _sangrista_ with her grandson. How she wished she could hold the boy herself!

"Thank you, Thalia. I mean to ask you—isn't Narcissa's surname 'Black'?"

Puzzled, she replied, "Yes. Why?"

"According to the Spanish way of naming, that would make this little fellow Ladon Abraxas Malfoy Black—L.A.M.B.," he grinned, unperturbed that no one seemed to make the connection he was going for.

"That's nice dear," she replied in a motherly manner, her blue eyes twinkling at him. "I'm sure there's a point to this."

"Well, of course there is. You know in Spanish your name is pronounced _Talia_, right? _Talia_ happens to be Aramaic for _lamb_—get it? L.A.M.B." He chuckled at his revelation.

Thalia's smile broadened into a sincere expression of contentment as Abraxas drew her into an embrace. "So my grandson is, in a very convoluted way, named for me," she said.

"Precisely," responded Mateo, gloating at his powers of deduction.

Abraxas laughed outright, not in a scornful way but rather playful. "See, honey? They didn't slight you!"

"Of course I wouldn't slight my mother, that was our intent all along," said Lucius as he entered the room, rolling his eyes at Mateo yet wearing a goofy grin that bespoke his uncommonly elated mood.

Draco straightened up in his chair, anxious eyes fixed on his father. "Is Mother alright? Why didn't she come down? Where's Dr. Livingston?"

"Your mother is fine, son," Lucius reassured him. Then to the whole room he announced, "Narcissa has been feeling ill because she's pregnant."

Stupefied silence finally gave way to exclamations of joyful congratulations that rang out from Thalia, Abraxas, and Mateo, who came over to slap his nephew affectionately on the back, careful not to wake Ladon. Draco, on the other hand, looked like he'd just seen an exceptionally frightening ghoul. Then his features settled into horrified disgust.

"Good Lord, Father! Mother just had a kid and you've knocked her up _again_? Have you never heard of the concept of self-control?"

"If I weren't so happy right now, I'd slap your insolent mouth," said the man.

Draco had the sense to lower his tone when he grumbled, "If this keeps up, people will begin to confuse us with the Weasleys!"

Good mood or not, enough was enough. Lucius took a few steps in the lad's direction and Draco flinched. "I will not tolerate any cheeky remarks in front of your mother. You will treat her with the utmost respect and support, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Rather than sit here acting like an impudent prat, I suggest you turn your energy toward that essay you owe me. I've grown weary of waiting for it."

Just then Narcissa burst in with Dr. Livingston and all heads turned her way. Her face was a mask of surprise and delight. "Lucius told you, didn't he?"

There were affirmative replies and more congratulations. Draco got up, went to Narcissa, and hugged her tightly. "I'm glad you're alright, Mother."

"Thank you, sweetheart." She kissed his cheek as he pulled away. "Where are you going?"

"I have an essay to write." He sent a glare Lucius' way before departing.

Abraxas cleared his throat more to gently get attention than from any actual need to do so, being a portrait and all. "Dr. Livingston, I was of the impression that Narcissa was hopelessly infertile without using the potion Severus made for her."

"And she is, quite," agreed the doctor as he made his way to the portrait of the man he knew had been a great healer himself. "Her fallopian tubes are completely blocked again. The only thing I can figure is an egg managed to squeak through before the tube had fully closed itself off. This will definitely be the Malfoys' last child."

Lucius almost floated over to his wife, picked her up in his strong arms, and swooped her in a circle before settling into a simple, massive embrace, his cheek resting on her hair, his body gently swaying with her. "I'm so proud of you, my love. We never thought we'd have any children, and you've given me three."

"You _did_ have something to do with it," replied Narcissa dryly. "And for that I thank you just the same."

Placing his hand over her flat abdomen, he continued to smile and sway. "My beautiful wife and my beautiful daughter—my two girls."

"How do you know it's a girl?" she challenged. "You thought Ladon would be a girl."

He shrugged, unfazed. "Eventually I have to be right."

"Sweetheart, there are people watching us," Narcissa whispered, knowing it would make no difference. Lucius didn't care if those he loved saw him demonstrate affection for his wife. Unable to extricate herself, she said over Lucius' shoulder, "Thank you, doctor. I'll see you in a month?"

"I'll be here," answered Livingston. "If you have any problems before that, let me know immediately."

As he headed for the floo he smiled; it was gratifying to see a couple so in love after all these years—and so unusual to see a witch with Narcissa's history pregnant for the third time. They both dearly wanted the child, which did his heart good, made him long for grandchildren of his own. It was about time to start looking for a suitable husband for his daughter. She'd graduate from Hogwarts in a few months, no point in delaying it any longer.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Draco was sitting idly at the desk in his mother's study, head tilted back against the neck rest, staring at the ceiling and tapping his quill on the desk when Mateo strolled in. He noted the boy had parchment in front of him, scarcely written on—not surprising, really, since Mateo doubted Draco regretted his Muggle-baiting activities and therefore had a hard job of explaining how they were wrong.

"The essay won't write itself, nephew. Why do you keep putting it off?"

"When did you become my father?" snapped Draco, lowering his gaze to the _sangrista_.

"When did you become a smartmouthed little prick?" Mateo retorted, fire leaping into his eyes. In _his_ day, boys did not spout off to their elders, and frankly he was getting tired of Draco's attitude. He would be altogether unsurprised if Lucius put a stop to it soon.

Not used to being spoken to like this by Mateo of all people, Draco's jaw dropped a bit and his grey eyes became round as galleons. He seemed genuinely wounded by the exchange; he'd known Mateo all his life, and while the _sangrista_ spoke his mind, he'd never been cruel to Draco. "That's not very nice," he mumbled.

"You haven't been very nice lately, have you?" Mateo didn't need to hear a response, they both knew the answer. "Lucius has asked me to keep an eye on you. That includes knowing what you're up to."

"I'm not up to anything!" exclaimed Draco, flinging his quill onto the desk. It sent blotches of ink scattering as it scooted to the edge and flopped onto the floor where it oozed a puddle of green ink. "He has no right to have you follow me."

"I'd like to be there when you tell him that," said Mateo, crossing his arms nonchalantly. "What are you sulking about anyway? You should be happy for your parents and instead you acted like a spoiled brat to your father."

The young man's blond brows dipped into a deep frown. "Why should I be happy? First Brax comes along to steal half my inheritance, and now there's another one on the way!"

Mateo shook his head in disgust and walked up to the desk. "I have never seen such a self-centered whelp! In the first place, your parents have enough money for all three children to live like kings for the rest of their lives, so don't even go there. In the second place, are you completely oblivious to the anguish your parents suffered in trying to conceive you? They tried for years, it broke their hearts not to have children, and when you came along they treated you like a prince."

"I know all that," Draco muttered, though he didn't dare be too impertinent with his uncle standing so close. He felt certain Mateo had no qualms about smacking him up if he deemed it necessary, and he hated to find out how hard a vampire could hit.

"So is it a wonder they love Ladon as much as they love you? Or that they welcome another child with open arms?" demanded Mateo—literally demanded. He stood over Draco like a drill sergeant waiting for an answer.

"No…but they're _old_! They're not supposed to be…"

"Having sex?" Mateo finished for him. He laid his hands on the desk and leaned in so their faces were only inches apart, pale blue orbs piercing the grey. "You know what the real problem is? You're jealous."

"I am not!"

"You are! You're jealous that Ladon and now the new baby will take the affection your parents have for you!" He paused to allow Draco a rebuttal, but the young wizard merely sat there, his lower lip trembling ever so slightly, his eyes becoming glassy. It made Mateo feel guilty for inducing the reaction, even if he was right—and he was absolutely sure he was.

Slowly he raised up and sat on the corner of the desk, a less threatening position. "It will never happen, Draco. Lucius and Narcissa love you with all their hearts. If anything, they love you more when they see you being a good brother to Ladon, and they appreciate your help even when they forget to say so." Still no answer from the boy. He got up and glided back to the door. "I'll tell your father you're reflecting on your life. That will get him off your back for a while. Goodnight, nephew."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Severus had waited until classes were over, supper was over, and Aline had left the lab. She'd avoided him all day, making it an unpleasant time all around. With trepidation and voices of doom shrieking in his head, he sneaked in and steadfastly gathered the ingredients he needed to brew the antidote. Did he really love Lily all these years or was it all a sham from that damned potion? One way or another he had to know the truth.

The concoction was fairly easy to make and took no more than an hour start to finish. Once it was ready he dipped a silver cup in, took a deep breath, and gulped it down. He waited a minute as a solemn expression settled over his visage.

"Oh, Lily," he murmured.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

When Aline answered the knock on her door, she both hoped it _was_ Severus and hoped it _wasn't_. It was, and he wore a very serious look that didn't bode well. "Hello, Severus." She made no move to invite him in.

"I thought it only proper to inform you I drank the antidote," he said quietly in his smooth, deep voice. "My feelings are more clear than they've ever been."

It felt like a kick in the stomach to hear. Trying to conceal her disappointment, Aline concentrated on his chest, unable to face him. "Oh. Well…at least you know. Goodnight then," she said with a catch in her voice. She moved back and started to close the door.

Severus shoved it open, grabbed her in a fierce hug, and kissed her with a feverish desire unlike any he'd ever experienced. Aline returned his passion before coming to her senses and taking a break for air.

"I thought you said—"

"Perhaps I should have been more specific," he growled in her ear. "My feelings _for you_ have never been more clear. The antidote worked; Lily is distant history."

A glorious, bright smile broke over Aline's features, then she pouted, "You're evil! You did that on purpose to trick me so I'd think it didn't work!"

"Indeed." He smirked and pulled her to him as he stepped inside, resuming snogging as he hooked the door with his foot and pushed it shut.


	53. Easter Break

Death Eater No More—Chapter Fifty-Three (Easter Break)

(A/N: For those who wondered, the love potion was first brought up in 'I, Too, Shall Follow', chapter 32)

"You were practically shagging on the lawn!" Ron bellowed.

"Oh!" gasped Hermione, white-faced with fury. "Is that what Harry said or merely your depraved interpretation?"

"He saw you hugging and kissing Krum!" insisted Ron. "Do you deny it?"

"Would it make a difference?" she shrilled back, not caring that neither of them had bothered to put up a silencing charm and all of the Burrow was being treated to their 'discussion'. "Obviously you've made up your mind without the nuisance of pesky _facts_ to hinder you, and frankly I'm appalled at your insane jealousy! After all the years you've known me, you still don't trust me. That about says it all."

"I can trust _you_ without trusting _him_," Ron shot back. "And you never answered the bloody question!"

Hermione, her face set in what might look to the casual observer a fit of homicidal rage, drew herself to her full height. Tears of helpless anger welled in her eyes. "And I don't intend to answer it. You've made your position crystal clear; I don't have to stand for such asinine accusations." She pushed past Ron, ran out the door, and began clomping down the numerous flights of stairs.

Unable to let it go or change tactics, the redhead leaned over the banister and called out, "Where're you going, 'Mione? To see _Krum_?"

"Shove it, Ron!" she screamed up at him.

By the time she'd reached the kitchen she was sobbing openly. Spying Harry and Ginny sitting at the table looking incredibly awkward she snarled, "Thanks for coming to me first, Harry! You might've learned the _truth_!" Then she flung open the door and rushed outside.

Ginny was on her feet and outside a bare second later, hoping to catch the young woman before she apparated. "Hermione, wait!"

Hermione turned to look at her, tears streaming down her face.

"Where are you going?" asked Ginny.

"Home to my parents," sniffed Hermione. "Would you send my things?"

Tempted to ask if that's what she really wanted, Ginny held her tongue. Harry was known for jumping to conclusions, she wouldn't be surprised if Hermione was totally in the right. And no matter how she looked at it, Ron was an imbecile, so it was only natural he'd go along with any insane, wild scenario. Despite the fact that she loved her brother, in all honesty she'd never understood how Ron had managed to snare Hermione to begin with.

"Sure, I'll send your things. You will come back, won't you?"

"I don't know, Ginny. I need to think, and I can't do that here." She tried to smile, which came out as more of a pathetic frown.

"Whatever happens with you and Ron, we'll still be friends, Hermione. Don't be too mad at Harry, okay?" Ginny's eyes pleaded with the other.

"I'll try," said Hermione, nodding. "I have to go." She disapparated moments before Ron burst out into the yard.

Ginny kicked him in the shin on her way to the house, making him yelp. "Dork," she hissed. Harry cringed at the sight of her advancing on him. "Harry Potter, when are you going to learn to be sure of your facts before spreading stories?"

"I saw what I saw," Harry retorted, shrinking a little before her.

"Would it have killed you to ask Hermione what was going on?" replied Ginny, hands on hips. "If she doesn't forgive you and Ron, I wouldn't blame her. No one likes to be accused of cheating, and I think you know her better than that."

Chagrined, Harry shrugged one shoulder and grinned stupidly. "I guess I should've asked her—but he kissed her, I saw it!"

"And did she kiss him back?" Good grief, it was like extracting teeth with a slippery glove to get sensible answers!

Harry thought for a moment. Krum planted a smooch, Hermione jerked away…. "Uh, no. But she hugged him!"

Ginny sighed. Beneath this seeming idiocy, Harry really _was_ smart, but why did he have to be so blasted impulsive and dense at times? "Maybe you should try to talk to Ron—no, on second thought, you've talked enough. Let's go flying, you can't do any damage that way."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

As guilty as Bayly felt for thinking it, he was glad to get away from his mother for Easter holidays. Livonia had been invited to the Krum estate along with Bayly, but had declined on the grounds that the family didn't speak English and she didn't speak Bulgarian. He loved his mother dearly, but he needed time to sort things out, which he couldn't do with her fussing over him and bursting into tears periodically whenever she thought of the hideous things her 'Toni' had done to him. His own pain was all he could handle right now.

The Krum family proved to be a very genial bunch; Mrs. Krum had welcomed him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek; Mr. Krum, who wore a habitually sullen expression like his son, had shook his hand and welcomed him warmly. Viktor's older sister Marina and her husband Kamen were both very friendly. The only one he was leery of was the scarcely fifteen-year-old Varbina—affectionately called Binka—who was three years his junior and had made no bones about having a serious crush on him when he attended Durmstrang.

For several days Bayly had assiduously avoided being near the clever, resourceful Binka unless others were around. Telling her he had a girlfriend did as much good as talking to a brick wall, except the brick wall wasn't stalking him like a lioness on the hunt.

All his precautions came to naught in the most compromising of positions. He'd hardly got out of the shower, wrapped a towel round his waist, and looked up. "Shit!" he gasped, instinctively lurching backwards, his heart racing from the shock. He slipped in a tiny puddle of water and had to steady himself on the shower rod. "What are you doing?"

Binka smiled at him as she hopped off the sink where she'd been lounging and struck a pose she assumed to be sexy while her eyes meandered hungrily over his body. To Bayly she looked merely like a female version of Viktor, which conjured no seductive image whatsoever. "Looking for you. It appears I found you."

"Varbina, get out!"

"Make me," she smirked, crossing her arms and stepping in to block the doorway into the bedroom. "Or better yet, stop being a tease and let me see what you're hiding under there."

"Don't be stupid. You're acting like a slut!"

That was probably not the wisest choice of words, given the circumstances. The girl screwed up her face in an incensed scowl, then stretched out her hand and _accio_'d the towel off his body. "Take that!"

"Give it back!" he howled in mortification, lunging at her to grab it. Laughing at his discomfort, she whipped the towel behind her back with Bayly swiping fiercely for it.

As was to be expected when the young man stood dripping wet and buck naked, pinning the young lady to a wall, Viktor walked in. The pair noticed him in the same instant; the girl dropped the towel and scurried out from under Bayly's arm to run to the security of her brother. Bayly snatched the cloth off the floor and threw it around his lower half, blushing and stammering incoherently.

"Viktor, he attacked me!" cried the girl innocently, clinging to her older brother's waist and projecting venomous glares at Young.

"That's a lie! She came in and stole my towel," Bayly argued, gulping.

Viktor glanced solemnly back and forth between them, his lips set tight. All at once he grasped his sister's arm and pried her off of him, whirled her around, and whacked her on the rump with his open hand, five fast, hard smacks with the girl writhing and squealing. "Binka, if I catch you or hear of you pulling a stunt like this again, I'll tell Mama and Papa and you'll get a whole lot worse than that!"

"But he's the pervert," she insisted in a wail, trying to sway him with her pitiful face. She even managed a few crocodile tears.

"What were you doing in here?" demanded Viktor, raising his eyebrows. Startled into silence, Binka made no attempt at an answer. "Don't bother trying to lie, I saw you come in and I followed you. I heard everything."

Caught in her own trap, the girl stamped her foot and shrieked, "I hate you!" She wrenched free of his grip and ran out.

"Good!" he shouted after her, then turned back to his friend with an apologetic air. "Sorry about that. She won't bother you again."

Bayly nodded, head down in embarrassment. "Thanks."

"Hurry up and get dressed, I'll see you at breakfast." Viktor's sulky brow deepened as he left the room.

He'd learned from the newspaper of the vicious beatings Dolohov had administered to his son; why hadn't it occurred to him that Bayly had been physically scarred by it? The proof stared him in the face in the form of various weals—some ropy and thick and deep pink, others thin and white, emblazoning Bayly's chest, back, and stomach. Never in his life had he felt such a rabid malevolence toward another human being as he felt for Dolohov, yet it was a wholly unproductive malice. The man was dead, there was no more vengeance to be had; all that remained was the hardest part—the healing…and Viktor had no idea how to help with that.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Lucius didn't have to call in any favors to procure an audience with Minister Shacklebolt this time around—in fact, the Minister had sent two of his highest deputies to request the wizard's presence in his office the following day, with instructions not to take 'no' for an answer. Were it not for the delicious irony of the way the tables had turned, Lucius would have sent them packing nonetheless; however, he rather fancied the idea of confronting Shacklebolt now that the wizarding world had become enlightened about the goblins at their doors.

Shacklebolt held an outdated edition of the _Daily Prophet_ in his massive hand as he ranted on, every so often giving it a shake for emphasis. "And I quote, '_Had I not sent my family away at the behest of my uncle, I shudder to think what gruesome fate may have befallen them. I warned the Minister that goblins were robbing and murdering wizards, yet several weeks later I'm at a loss to see any action that was taken'_."

Lucius cocked his head, blinking and smiling politely. He loved how it drove people mad, thereby making him glad. All in all a fair trade. "Yes, what of it?"

"You can't go around saying things like this!" exploded Shacklebolt.

"Really? What part of the article was inaccurate?" Malfoy leaned forward in mock interest tinged with feigned concern.

Shacklebolt's angry white eyeballs stood out starkly against his dark skin. Seriously, he looked like he'd blow an artery soon. "The fact that you are not privy to the workings of my office does not mean no action was taken! I'd have let this go except it's been causing major unrest among the citizens."

"That's hardly my fault," drawled Lucius, relaxing back in his chair and crossing his legs, his cane laid across his lap. "Did I lie? The citizens have every right to know of the danger on their doorsteps, and I dare say the overwhelming majority do not have vampires to guard them."

Kingsley ducked his head as he fumed in silence. The most irritating, exasperating part of the whole thing was that he couldn't really pin anything on Malfoy. The statements and innuendoes, while inflammatory, weren't illegal…and most of them were, unfortunately, true. Nevertheless, the people were worried and making it known; Kingsley was worried, too. They'd not been able to locate a single goblin on the list Malfoy had given him, though according to goblins Shacklebolt trusted, those on the list were actual living goblins they either knew or had heard of. The only beneficial effect of this whole situation was that the goblins had gone deep into hiding and the burglaries and killings had stopped for now.

He rattled the newspaper again. "Mr. Malfoy, I didn't call you here to listen to you gloat. I'm asking you to recant, or at the least say you overreacted."

"_Moi_? Overreacted?" Lucius inquired, hand to breast, giving the innocent-yet-hurt expression, capped with a little laugh. "I think not."

Shacklebolt gritted his teeth and read, " '_When the Ministry of Magic is involved in a cover-up of this magnitude, we must wonder what else they're keeping from us, what else is going on behind the scenes. How safe are we from the Ministry itself?_'"

"_That_ is Mr. Tolman's quote, not mine. Perhaps you ought to take this up with him," said Lucius pleasantly, smiling genuinely at the Minister's vexation. He slipped a pocket watch from his robe, snapped it open, and made a disturbed hum in the back of his throat. Dryly he intoned, "Well, this has been…riveting, but I have elsewhere to be. If you'll excuse me."

Lucius got up, smoothed his robe, and nodded to the man before strolling from the office in high spirits. In truth he had no immediate plans, but that was none of Shacklebolt's business. The plans he had prepared to set in motion in a few days' time—those would certainly concern Shacklebolt, which was one reason Lucius had no intention of broadcasting them about. He hadn't gotten where he was by being a fool.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

The Prince estate, like most pureblood holdings, consisted of a moderately large home with a sprawling yard surrounding it; upon the death of his grandparents, Severus had inherited the place according to his status as eldest male. He rarely came here, it reminded him of a time when his mother was alive and life was simpler—not much simpler, but a little. Cluttered, hovel-like Spinner's End had suited his mood for most of his life.

In the past few weeks so much had changed. He'd begun dating an attractive, intelligent witch who seemed to reciprocate his sentiments, and he'd been freed of a suffocating love potion. At times he almost convinced himself it had to be a trick or a dream; good things didn't happen to Severus Snape. If it _was_ a dream he didn't want to wake up, and would do his damndest to hold onto it.

For the first time since he'd sent the twins to live in Wales because of Voldemort, he felt secure enough to invite them for the Easter holidays. There was no more need to fear anyone finding out he had relatives, no need to fear for their lives because of his precarious spy work. As Spinner's End was basically a cramped dump, the Prince property was the logical choice for meeting. There was room enough for his brother and sister with their spouses, plus plenty of room for their children.

Jacinta had come for the day without Jack and Glenna, who felt it an invasion of Severus' family time for them to intrude. In a huge leap of faith Severus had invited Aline, who had resisted a bit at first by citing the 'family affair' argument, only to be countered by his assertion that since she had no family here in England it was his _duty_ to entertain her.

He smiled to think it hadn't taken much coaxing, and here she was sitting beside him after supper on the loveseat in the huge parlor, surrounded by chairs and a sofa, all of them occupied with people gawping at the couple like specimens in a zoo. He'd begun a tad late to rethink his ludicrous idea of asking her to come…it didn't seem fair to subject her to the Inquisition so soon.

Thus far Aline had revealed family ties, career advancement, and a smattering of her lifetime triumphs and tribulations; if it weren't so obviously making her uncomfortable to be the subject of interest—if that's what being studied like a bug under a microscope was called—Severus would have enjoyed learning more about her. He had to say he reveled in hearing her talk, regardless of the topic.

"Alright, that's enough," Severus said gruffly, staring into a pair of eyes very like his own, those belonging to his brother. "Aline is a guest, she's not under interrogation."

Aline put a hand on his arm and smiled. "It's okay, Severus. They're only curious."

"Can you blame us?" piped up Jacinta, grinning at her father. "Papa hasn't had a lady friend since my mum—it's quite novel."

Severus' scowl turned her way and she smiled all the more broadly. "I love you, Papa."

"I love you, too, but that's not the point," growled the man.

His sister Tina gave a withering look. She'd grown up with Severus' death-promising glares and menacing glowers, and was no more alarmed by them than Jacinta was. "Aline, don't be intimidated by us. We're all absolutely thrilled to see Severus happy; he so deserves to be happy."

"I wholeheartedly agree," said Aline, feeling embarrassed and on the spot.

Justina resumed talking in a soft voice, her black eyes wistful and proud. "Ever since I can remember Severus has been my big brother, my protector. He's sacrificed his own desires for others, me and Julius included. When he was working for Lucius Malfoy to create a fertility potion, he didn't spend the money he earned on himself even though he wore second hand robes and used old books. He spent it on us, paying bills and buying us new clothes so we didn't have to wear hand me downs from the church collections."

"Tina," Severus started quietly, only to be interrupted by Julius.

"And he spent most of his life working for Dumbledore to take down Voldemort, yet he gets little credit for it; he's never bragged or boasted, he just does what has to be done. The wizarding world owes him so much—and Severus, I mean it. You make us proud." Julius lifted his glass of ale in Severus' direction; the others followed suit.

Cheeks burning in a wholly unfamiliar way, Severus dropped his head so none could see his eyes. In a subdued voice to correspond with the sudden solemnity he said, "How about we discuss something other than Aline or myself? Has anyone checked on the children recently?"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Severus and Aline came through the floo together, leaving the rest to toddle off to bed at Prince Manor. As they stepped out of the fireplace into the room, he smiled sidelong at her. "You were wonderful with my family. I know they can be nosy, so thank you."

"They're an incredibly sweet bunch, I like them," she answered plainly. "Thank you for inviting me, I had a very good time."

Tempted to ask 'how good', Snape surmised he'd rather find out firsthand. Putting his arms around her waist, he pulled her close and bent down to taste her lips.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Lucius, we need to talk."

These words coming from Narcissa would have set his mind on high alert, bells and whistles blaring; coming from Mateo they were sort of… peculiar. "Talk about what?" He hoped the _sangristas_ weren't restless, he had no desire to clean up gore in the cellar again.

Mateo gestured toward the front parlor with his head. Taking his cue, Lucius went in ahead of him, then cast a silencing spell about them. Merlin's beard, what if they'd _already_ made a mess? What if they'd kidnapped humans and sucked them dry in the cellars? Damn it all, he was tired of disposing of bodies!

He snapped back to reality with Mateo snapping his fingers in front of the wizard's face. "Are you quite well, Lucius? I've noticed you occasionally lapse into a trance-like state."

"I have a lot on my mind," retorted Lucius, scowling. "What is so important we have to sneak about the house to discuss it?"

"It's Draco. I'm concerned about him."

"Has he done something?" asked Lucius, a hard edge coloring his voice.

The vampire shook his head, eyeing his nephew sadly. No wonder Draco was acting out if this was the typical response he got from his father! "He's had a very tough time in the past few years with you going to Azkaban, him becoming a Death Eater, all the evil under Voldemort. I believe the way you've been neglecting him since Ladon was born has deeply impacted him—"

"Neglect?" echoed Lucius in astonishment. He waved an agitated hand at the contents of the room. "Does this manor look like the way to neglect a boy? Maybe you mean his expensive designer clothes. Does he appear to be _starving_?" Now he was just abusing sarcasm.

Mateo would not fall for the bait, he would not sink to hurling insults or losing his composure as Lucius evidently hoped he would. While he may dress like a modern young British man, his core values originated in a time and place far removed from here, a place where the elders of the family held sway with dignity and strength of character; to be deserving of such respect he must fulfill his duty as an elder, and that included reprimanding his nephew if necessary.

"_Emotional_ neglect, Lucius," Mateo replied evenly.

The icy glower Lucius cast at him was overshadowed only by the flaming cheeks that made him look apoplectic. "How dare you make such a presumptuous claim? Any fool can see I love my son, and Draco is unquestionably no fool!"

"No, he isn't. But he has been through a lot more than most people ever experience, he's fragile right now. He's jealous of the attention lavished on Ladon, and now that another child is on the way he fears he may lose your love entirely."

Gobsmacked, Lucius gaped at the vampire. "That is asinine! Has he said this to you?"

"Of course not," scoffed Mateo, crossing his arms over his chest. His voice took on a sober, heavy, fatherly tone. "I've been observing human nature for over three hundred years, I've gotten pretty good at it. Draco is moody, withdrawn, getting into trouble…and I've seen how he looks at you sometimes, as if he wished you'd pay him the interest you pay Ladon. If you don't step in, I'm afraid you may lose him."

If the very prospect of losing his son hadn't rattled and terrified him, Lucius would have shot back a flippant reply. Now wasn't the time, not if Draco was in trouble. It made no sense! What had Draco to be jealous of? Naturally he and Narcissa adored Ladon, but they adored Draco, too! They may have been less diligent of late in showing it, but Draco understood…didn't he?

Swallowing his fear and putting on a blank face, Lucius said, "What do you propose I do? Punishing him doesn't seem to be helping."

Ah, the old Malfoy standby: punishment. The remedy for everything from disobedience to warts! Mateo rolled his eyes. "Try spending time with him when you're not lecturing him or tending the baby," Mateo advised. "Perhaps even _talking_ to him—like a _real person_."

"You needn't be snide," Lucius sniffed. All at once his face brightened and a devilish smile crept over his features. "I know the perfect way to facilitate our father/son bonding experience—I'll take Draco with us on our adventure!"

Mateo's head jerked up and he peered sharply at his nephew. It was so like Lucius to have the last word, especially if the last word made a filthy hand gesture at the other person. "Do you think it wise?"

"If we're being soul-baringly honest, I doubt the whole escapade is _wise_," smirked Lucius, reveling in his one-upmanship. "Besides, I'll need Draco's blood, we may as well bring it along in his body."


	54. Aren't Holidays Fun?

Death Eater No More—Chapter Fifty-Four (Aren't Holidays Fun?)

Viktor's house bustled with activity. In the kitchen Mrs. Krum and her daughters were busily preparing the traditional Easter salad; lettuce was sliced into thin strips, cucumbers peeled, green onions and radishes slivered. For a garnish they would quarter some of the many, many boiled eggs omnipresent in the home.

Viktor's grandmother and aunts had already mixed the dough for the _kozounak_, the traditional braided bread decorated with skinned almonds and a red, hardboiled egg nestled in the center. It was on its third rise, nearly ready for the oven.

Children of various ages ran to and fro throughout the house, screaming and laughing, challenging each other to the game of egg-fighting wherein they bumped the points of boiled eggs together to see whose would crack first—and thereby lose the game. Occasionally one of the children or a tipsy uncle would crack one of the eggs on his forehead for the sport of it.

All in all it was an exciting day…if you were a member of the Krum clan and didn't feel like a complete outsider to the customs. Bayly felt lost amid the chaos and noise of a full house, for his own experience with Easter had always been a sedate affair at his uncle's home with his two older female cousins.

He slipped out the back door onto the porch and closed the door softly, not that anyone would have noticed if he'd banged it. The sudden radical diminishing of the racket was refreshing. Not far off to the left he spied what he recalled his friend saying was the _tcheverme_, a lamb on a spit over live coals. Two of Viktor's older cousins were drinking and talking as they kept casual watch over it.

Bayly walked to the right and hopped over the railing onto the ground, headed for the pond obscured by a patch of trees. Once there, he sat heavily on the end of the pier in silence listening to the faint roar from the house and the closer sound of birds in the trees. With his feet dangling over the edge, he took out his wand and started to make mini-whirlpools. He didn't know how long he'd been there when a clumsy gait on the wood of the pier alerted him to his friend's approach.

"Here you are. I've been looking all over." Viktor's eyes roamed over the forlorn, contemplative boy whose lackluster movements and slumped form bespoke more than shyness around the extended family.

"Sorry." Bayly slid his wand back into the wrist holster.

Viktor plopped down beside him, grinning. "No, I'm sorry. My family is enough to scare anyone away. Want to fish for a while?"

The other bobbed his head and shrugged noncommittally, so Viktor got up and retraced his steps to the shore where a small metal boat was tied. He lifted out two fishing rods and a small box with holes in the lid.

He wandered back and handed a pole to Bayly. "It's a good thing Tate (_dad_) was fishing yesterday, the crickets are still alive."

Side by side with a meter's space between them, they cast their lines into the water, neither looking at the other, both comfortable with the arrangement. The sun beat down hard on their unshaded bodies, and soon Viktor had stripped off his shirt and tossed it behind him.

"It's sweltering out here. Why don't you take your shirt off?" Viktor asked, noting a trickle of sweat running down Bayly's temple.

"No, that's okay," Bayly murmured.

"I've seen your pasty skin plenty of times; you could use some tan," teased Krum. When he got no reaction he said simply, "Is it the scars?" Bayly's head whipped over towards him with such a kneejerk fright instilled in the eyes that Viktor scarcely stopped himself from swearing aloud. "I saw them in the bathroom."

Bayly gripped his pole so tight his knuckles grew white. He looked away into the water. "Pretty gross, huh?"

His companion lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. "It doesn't make any difference in how I see you."

Continuing to stare at the water, entranced by the gently swirling, lapping waves, Bayly said nothing. How he wished he could talk to mum or Gloria and have them hold him tight to chase away this oppressive emptiness and fear and perennial anguish that he kept trapped inside. But he couldn't do that, it wasn't fair to burden them with his ridiculous pain. He couldn't bear to see them hurt because he was too much of a baby to get over it already.

Dolovov had hurt him, so what? It was over, he should move on…and he tried, he really did, but when he got a glimpse of what a normal family acted like when they were together, it became harder and harder to push his own reality from his mind. He found that the more he bottled up his emotions and thoughts, the more it felt like a Muggle bomb set to explode, and him with it.

Keeping his eyes glued to a shimmering patch on the water, Bayly hesitantly uttered in a barely audible voice, "Your dad is so nice. All while I was growing up my mum told me about _my_ dad, and I wanted so bad to know him." He halted abruptly; he shouldn't be talking like this, it was pointless and only served to make him look like he couldn't handle his own life.

Viktor didn't let it go. "It wasn't like you expected, though, was it?"

Bayly shook his head, feeling a lump in his throat. "He escaped Azkaban when I was fourteen, and I found out what he was really like: domineering, cruel, hateful. After he went back to prison I was so relieved I just wanted to forget him."

"Till he escaped again…" said the other quietly, the raw depth of emotion he felt from Bayly causing a tightening in his chest.

"Yeah. That's when the beatings turned more savage and he started using the Cruciatus." Bayly's fingers rubbed unconsciously along his side where a ridge of scar tissue was palpable.

For his part, Viktor cringed inside as he stole glances at the boy's profile. Despite his curiosity, he'd have never asked Bayly to talk about his ordeal; he knew the boy had suffered greatly over a period of about two years, much worse than the newspapers would or could reveal. But if Bayly needed to talk, as he evidently did, it was his duty and privilege as a friend to listen no matter how awful the subject matter became. "Did your mother know?"

Bayly shook his head again. "No, he threatened me with horrible things if I told." Experience had taught him that Dolohov's threats were not idle. A warning in his head told him to stop, he had no right to be blabbing these things, while a conflicting voice urged him on. _Say it before you lose what little courage you've got!_

"Your dad would love you if you didn't play Quidditch and weren't famous. He doesn't expect you to—to torture and kill so he can accept you." Young's jaw clenched and unclenched, his voice rose in pitch. "What's wrong with me that mine hated me so much?"

"There's nothing wrong with you! He was a psycho bastard!" Viktor growled.

A sadly out of place laugh escaped the younger man though he looked like he was about to break into tears. Barely above a whisper Bayly said, "Which means I shouldn't care what he thought, but I do. So what does that make me? Stupid and weak and pathetic, just like he always said I was!"

His shoulders heaved with a great sob as tears spilled down his cheeks. Feeling ashamed at looking like a sissy baby, he dropped his fishing rod on the pier, turned away, and brought his knees to his chest as sobs continued to come in wrenching bursts.

Unsure of how to handle this and raging inwardly at Dolohov, Viktor slammed a fist against the upright support of the pier; it shuddered ever so slightly. It tore at his heart to hear the agonizing cries of such a nice kid, one brutalized and traumatized for no reason whatsoever. Because there was nothing he could do, he waited a while in silence to let Bayly get out the worst of his grief, his own eyes searching the heavens.

When the boy seemed to be winding down, Krum said, "Dolohov was a sadistic piece of shit, and his opinion means less than that. You wanted him to love you because you're human, we all crave approval and love…that's all. He couldn't give it because he was sick, not anything about you, and you're none of the things he called you. You're smarter than me and you've got a lot of guts."

Bayly wiped his dripping eyes on the sleeve of his shirt, then dug in his pocket for a handkerchief. "I feel like an idiot. I'm sorry for falling apart like this."

"Don't be. Sometimes it's okay to cry, and God knows you've earned it." He paused. "Do you remember when you first made the Quidditch team, what they dared you to do?"

Lifting his head, allowing his mind to wander back to his third year, Bayly recalled how students new to the Quidditch team endured a rite of passage wherein the other boys dared them to perform pranks—usually on teachers. Bayly's challenge had come in the form of a tall, brooding dark-haired professor with a clipped beard and a handsome face the girls swooned over.

_Bayly waited for the teacher of Medical and Defensive Magic to turn away from the class before pointing his wand under his desk and muttering a charm. Professor Tanassov turned back to the class with his face a brilliant purple, sending most of the pupils into roaring laughter. Unfortunately for Bayly, the girl beside him belonged to the I'm-Shamelessly-In-Lust-With-Tanassov club, and she wasted no time in shrilly ratting the boy out._

_The professor reversed the charm, then held out his hand to demand Bayly's wand with a simple command of, "Dai!"_ (Give it to me!)

_Caught up in the moment, Bayly couldn't resist. __Dai__ sounded like the English __die__, so he gave them a show. He clutched at his heart, fell to the ground, and twitched a bit before lying still. Since English was taught from first year onward, the other students understood and appreciated the act, egging him on, which only served to annoy the professor more._

Mouth quirking into a rueful smile as he remembered, Bayly answered, "Yeah, that was fun all the way up to the part where he blistered my ass so bad I couldn't sit on my broom for a week."

"But the guys still talk about it," said Viktor, chuckling. "Nobody—not even seventh years—ever dared mess with Tanassov. You're sort of a hero-legend around the school, especially with the team. You don't become that by being stupid, weak, or pathetic."

"Thanks, Viktor," said Young quietly, truly meaning it.

Viktor leaned over and slapped him on the back so hard it nearly dislocated his shoulder blade and sent him skidding into the water simultaneously. "I kind of think of you like a little brother. It's nice being the big brother you come to."

Wincing from the violent show of friendship, Bayly rotated his arm socket while grinning shyly at him. "I like it, too."

"Good, then listen up. I mean this, I'm not just saying it: whenever you want to talk about _anything_ at all, I'm here….well, maybe not _here_, but wherever I am." He gave his fishing pole a light tug. "You can come and I'll make time for you."

"You don't have to do that," protested Young.

Viktor ignored the interruption, smiling now. "Of course, it works the other way, too. If I need you, you'd better be there for me."

"Deal," nodded Bayly. He looked up in the direction of the house shrouded by trees. "I shouldn't be keeping you from your family. We ought to go back."

"No rush," replied Krum. "They'll be here well into the night. Bulgarians do love to party."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

It was always a bad sign when her parents weren't open and forthright; this time was no exception. The Abbotts had been invited over for dinner with Dr. Livingston and family, which was unusual enough since Gloria could count on one hand the number of times the families had socialized formally. But now her mother had presented her with a new floor length dress of soft ivory, modestly cut yet well-fitted, a beautiful gown.

Gloria laid the dress on her bed and faced her mother….and father, who had suddenly appeared beside her. "Mum, what's going on?"

Her father jumped in to answer. "Gloria, dear, your mother and I have discussed this at length, and we've decided it's time to find you a suitable husband."

The girl was so intent on gaping she failed to reply. Were her parents actually proposing to arrange a marriage for her? How archaic was that?

Mrs. Livingston chimed in, hugging her daughter's shoulders. "Naturally we don't expect you to wed right away, you can take a year for your engagement. It's just getting harder to find an acceptable man, so we're here to help you."

"Help me—a suitable—what are you talking about?" Gloria sputtered. "We don't live in the Dark Ages! I'm dating Bayly!"

"Yes," admitted the doctor slowly. "You've had your fun, now it's time to get serious."

"I _am_ serious!" snapped the girl, pulling away from her mother. "Bayly is kind and generous and caring—and pureblood, if that matters!"

"You know very well blood isn't an issue as long as you marry a wizard. Certainly you think Bayly is a nice boy, but…his ancestry leaves something to be desired," said Dr. Livingston as delicately as he could.

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, Gloria," warned her mother. "A son emulates his father, that's the way it is. We don't want that influence on you."

"He's not evil!" screamed Gloria, stamping her foot in helpless frustration. "Bayly's father was in prison most of his life, and treated him horribly the rest of the time. Bayly hates him, he'd never emulate him!"

As if he hadn't heard a word she said, the doctor stated, "We've been talking to various families with eligible sons. Tonight we've invited the first of them; Samson isn't betrothed, and he's a fine fellow."

"I'm not marrying Sammy!"

"Unless you've already picked a viable alternative, young lady, I'd hesitate to make such claims," clipped her father. "Never fear, there will be several others to choose from. Nonetheless, Samson will be here soon and you will treat him properly, so get dressed."

He took the arm of his wife to lead her out; she shook her head, clucking her tongue. "Children nowadays!"

Gloria threw herself on the bed to sob uncontrollably. This couldn't be happening! She wouldn't give up Bayly, she wouldn't! They couldn't make her! But they could make life for Bayly and his mother difficult, they knew a lot of people…her father had delivered babies for many of the high class purebloods who wielded a lot of power. No, she wouldn't be coerced into this; if she had to she'd run away with Bayly and deal with the consequences later.

When at last she could cry no more, she got up to wash her face and get dressed. Her reflection in the mirror said she looked terrible with her puffy red eyes and glowing red nose and messed hair. Good. Sammy wouldn't want a wife who looked so awful, not that she'd bend to her parents' will anyway. All at once fury struck her again: Sammy had the gall to go along with this? She had half a mind to rip off an important body part if she was forced to be alone with him.

As she was coming down the stairs the Abbotts were coming in from the foyer being led by an elf to the dining room. Samson looked up at her and smiled. "Hi, Gloria." He squinted a bit at her. "Are you alright? You look like shite."

A light smack on the back of the head startled him and he turned to his father, a tall burly man who gave him a cautioning glare. "That is no way to speak to a lovely young lady, especially your future bride."

"My _what_?" The word echoed up and down the corridor. From the horrified expression on his face, it was obvious he'd not been informed of the purpose of this dinner.

The woman with them, his mother's sister, hurried over to the men. "Samson, let's not make a scene."

"Auntie, are you and dad trying to set me up with Gloria?"

"Yes, dear," answered the woman sweetly. "Now behave." She took his meaty hand in her tiny one to drag him down the hallway but he refused to budge. With her willowy frame she had no hope of moving him.

"Why are you trying to arrange a marriage for _me_? You let Hannah choose her own!"

"Hannah has her sights set on that Longbottom chap, and he's a fine catch," explained his aunt as if talking to a ten-year-old. "At our last gathering they got on splendidly, so I'm not worried about her. _You_, on the other hand, aren't even dating. Your father and I agreed to step in and push things along."

Sammy stared at his aunt like he'd never seen her before. "I'm only eighteen, I don't want—"

"Obstinacy is not an attractive quality," cooed the witch.

"Well how about this: I can't marry Gloria because she's my friend's girl," Sammy spat. He could not believe they were doing this. Hardly anyone insisted on arranging their children's marriages anymore—and those who did were purebloods! But then again, his family probably thought he'd get a good 'catch' in a doctor's daughter!

Mr. Abbott took up position beside his sister-in-law, looking like Atlas beside a wood nymph. He seemed distinctly displeased with the turn of the conversation and his son's bullheadedness. "Do as you're told, Samson. I won't have discourteous conduct. Now come along."

"No, sir." Sammy planted his feet. From the corner of his eye he noted the utterly miserable Gloria clad in her stunning gown, standing on the stairs breathlessly waiting to see the outcome of this argument. "I like Gloria, but she's being courted by another wizard. What kind of man places designs on his friend's woman?"

With that he gave a respectful nod to the dumbstruck adults, turned to give Gloria a quick wink, and strode out the door feeling far less confident than he appeared. If he knew his father, he'd be castigated royally when they got home.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"How long will you be gone, Lucius?" asked Narcissa, standing in the foyer with the group prepared to leave.

"Not long, sweetheart…I hope," he answered.

He kissed her again and stepped back, took his wand from his robe, and waved it over Tonia and Mateo. The two formerly beautiful vampires now resembled wizened octogenarians. Mateo's bald pate held a scant fringe of white hair and numerous liver spots; Tonia sported a thin grey ponytail and a dowager's hump.

Mateo studied his wife briefly and leered, "_Hermosa como siempre, mi amor."_ (Beautiful as always, my love.)

Tonia laughed, a sweet, melodious sound. "_Desgraciadamente, no puedo decir lo mismo de ti, querido."_ (Sadly, I can't say the same for you, darling.)

Undaunted, Mateo yanked her to him for a passionate kiss while Draco rolled his eyes. To his left his parents were making goo-goo eyes at each other, and if his mother weren't already pregnant he'd be tempted to advise his father to take a cold shower—if he wanted a slap upside the head, that is. As it stood, this adventure at least got him out of the bloody house for a while! No sense in spoiling that.

"I wish I could go with you," said Narcissa wistfully. "I never get to have any fun."

"You're always with me, darling," Lucius assured her. He hooked a lock of her hair behind her ear as he bent in to whisper meaningfully, "Always."

"What do you—" Narcissa pulled away to gaze into his face, to study the sparks dancing in his eyes and that adorable smirk on his bodaciously kissable lips. "You don't mean the doll I gave you all those years ago."

Lucius smiled coyly and patted his breast pocket where the tiny, animated, lifelike figurine of Narcissa rested. "I told you I wanted you near my heart forever."

Her own heart melting in puddles on the marble floor, Narcissa leaped into his arms with tears in her eyes. "I love you so much. Please be careful."

"I will, I promise. And I'll take care of Draco."

"I can take care of myself," Draco piped up to anyone who was listening.

Lucius let it go. The kid was testing him, as usual. "It's time, son. We'll apparate Mateo and Tonia to Diagon Alley, they'll walk up from there. You and I will meet in front of Gringotts."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Lucius appeared—or showed up, at any rate, for he was under a _disillusion_ charm—only meters away from the goblin standing guard in front of the bronze doors of Gringotts. It was late, all the shops in Diagon Alley were closed and few people milled about…making witnesses far less likely.

He strained his eyes to find his son, but the lad's _disillusion_ charm was too strong to see through. While it made him proud of Draco, it made him uneasy; he couldn't very well call out to the boy to ascertain his location.

Up the crooked street he spied the ancient couple toddling along, and he had to smile. They were such an unlikely-looking pair to be up to no good. And they did look sweet together. Together Mateo and Tonia laboriously climbed the gleaming white stairs to the goblin, whose grimace at their approach twisted his face into an uglier version of grotesque.

"Bank's closed. No one goes in," announced the goblin. One long-fingered hand rested on the hilt of a knife.

Mateo did not answer, he merely bent down closer to stare into the goblin's beady black eyes.

All at once the creature croaked in terror, "I know what you are! I can smell it!"

But it was too late. He'd allowed his gaze to join with the _sangrista_'s for a second too long and momentarily his eyes glazed over, his body relaxed. Mateo spoke softly into his pointed ear, "You didn't see me or anyone else. The night was very quiet. Now open the door for us."

Tonia whispered to her husband, "_Hay dos mas adentro. Tal vez tengamos que sujetar sus cabezas mientras los hipnotizamos."_ (There are two more inside. Maybe we'll have to restrain their heads while we hypnotize them.)

Mateo nodded in agreement. That seemed the prudent course to prevent the hideous little beasts from bolting or squirming, they couldn't break a vampire's powerful grip. If absolutely necessary he'd break their necks, but then Lucius would be put out and he'd have to hear incessant bitching about foiling their plan. Honestly, his nephew could go on…

The guard turned, unlocked the door as he chanted something in his guttural language, and stepped aside for the aged couple to pass. Lucius and Draco hurried to slip in with them, still under concealment. Next to the set of silver doors the two goblins snapped to attention in surprise; before their long knives had cleared their sheaths, Mateo and Tonia snatched them and forced them to look upon the eyes that would bind them in a enthralled haze.

The _sangristas_ murmured instructions to the goblins, who obediently laid their hands on the silver doors and began to hum together in a high-pitched tune. The doors clicked and swung open. All of them—vampires, humans, and goblins—entered the marble room, at which time the Malfoys removed their concealment charms.

Addressing Tonia and the goblin she held in her hands, Mateo said, "Take that one and start the task. I'll go with Lucius to his vault, then this goblin will guide me to the rest."

As Tonia and 'her goblin' exited through one of the myriad of doors, Lucius, Draco, Mateo, and the other goblin left through another door and squeezed into a cart that immediately took off at breakneck speed, with Mateo whooping in delight. This was almost as fun as flying!

The dragon outside the Malfoy vault lifted his head, seeming quite displeased to be disturbed at this hour of the night. He snorted a blast of fire at the intruding cart.

"Xerxes, it's me," Lucius crooned as he clamored anxiously from the cart, to the dismay of his son. "I have a surprise for you."

The blue monster cocked its head and nuzzled up to Lucius, who petted and stroked the snout affectionately as it purred like an overgrown, mutant kitten. Draco observed the scene with arms crossed and brows knit. "Well, Father, now I've seen it all! You have a pet dragon, yet you won't even permit me a _dog_!"

"Dogs are noisy and smelly," replied Lucius, only half listening. "Mateo, you'd better get going, I'll take it from here. Draco, get out of the cart."

"And dragons burn you to a crisp," muttered the boy as he crawled out.

The cart shot away with the vampire and goblin, leaving Draco to stand warily behind his father. Lucius took his wand from his pocket and took aim at the bulky collar around the dragon's neck; a wordless spell later, the collar snapped open and fell to the earthen floor. A chain on Xerxes' leg dropped off seconds later.

"You're free, Xerxes," Lucius said softly, with a hint of sadness. This would be the last time he'd ever see the only animal that had been anything remotely resembling a pet in his emotions. "I won't forget you."

Xerxes simply gawped at him, not comprehending. He poked his muzzle against Lucius' chest, hoping for a rat treat. As if to comply with the silent request, Lucius stunned a squeaking creature in the shadows, then levitated the rat within reach of the dragon, who gobbled it in one chomp.

"Father, shouldn't we get started?" Draco offered tentatively. As touching as the moment was, they had business to attend to.

Lucius spun around as if he'd forgotten the boy was there. "Yes, of course." Taking a gold key from his trouser pocket, he unlocked the massive metal door and swung it open. "You know what to do."

Draco stepped into the vault, using his wand to illuminate the area. He pulled a short, sharp blade from his robes and slashed across the palm of his left hand, suppressing a cry of pain. Blood bubbled up through the slit and began to drip over onto the floor. He smeared his hand across the inside of the door in a bold swipe, then slowly walked round the vault, sidestepping columns of money and piles of goods as he flicked droplets of blood directly onto the walls, ceiling, and floor. Only when every surface was splattered until it looked like red polka dots of various sizes did he stop. The bigger drops rolled down the walls in red stripes.

When he'd finished he returned to the door and held out his scarlet, dripping hand to his father; Lucius chanted a healing incantation as he drew the wand over the wound, closing it neatly. "Good job, son. Now pay close attention, you may need to do this one day."

Facing the vault, Lucius aimed his wand, dipping and weaving it occasionally as he intoned a series of chants. Wave after wave of barriers arose, vibrating and pulsing, until at last with the final slash of his wand the wards coalesced into a single shining gold ward encircling the vault, even into the earth itself. Gradually the shimmering ring dissipated, leaving no trace.

Heaving a sigh, Lucius smiled at his son. "And _that_ is how to establish the strongest of blood wards, taught by Voldemort himself. No one beyond the second level of relation to you can pass through it." First level of relation being the blood donor's parents, children, and _their_ children to infinity, all those of consequence had access. The same automatically counted for Ladon, whose blood was deemed equal to Draco's. Second level included aunts, uncles, and first cousins, theoretically permitting Andromeda access—but not without the key.

Father and son spent a few minutes _scourgifying_ the blood stains so that no goblin would see it and guess what had been done—not that it was illegal, but simply because Lucius preferred to keep his business his own. They left the vault, then closed and locked it. Xerxes , who'd danced with longing at the delicious smell of blood and stared in wonderment at the pretty colored curtains floating around, now nudged at his human in confusion.

"You're coming with us, Xerxes," Lucius assured him. "You'll find a very happy home."

Prior planning had convinced the wizard that even if it were possible to apparate from here, which it wasn't because of goblin spells, he wouldn't be able to do a side-along with such a massive creature. There was only one alternative, short of leading the dragon on foot, a task that could take hours: they were going to have to fly out of here.

"Draco, mount up." So saying, Lucius hoisted himself onto Xerxes' back. The dragon cooed a guttural tune in the back of his throat. The man extended a hand to his son to help him swing up behind.

"The Potter puke bragged in the _Prophet_ that he and his retarded cronies rode a dragon out of here after breaking into Aunt Bella's vault and stealing a horcrux," Draco smirked. "Guess he's not the only one."

"The difference being that you can't tell anyone," remarked his father dryly. "It would defeat the purpose of all our secrecy and stealth, wouldn't it? And land us in Azkaban."

"I wasn't going to tell," Draco said.

Lucius leaned forward over Xerxes' neck. "Let's go, boy."

The dragon stamped around a bit, gurgling joyfully.

Lucius clipped the dragon in the sides with his heels; the beast made a purring/giggling sound. Alright, so he wasn't the sharpest knife in the box. Catching sight of a pair of shining eyes in the shadows, Lucius threw out a spell to ensnare it. He then levitated it a couple of meters in front of Xerxes.

The dragon made a lunge for it but Lucius jerked it out of reach to keep it dangling and squealing before the dragon's snout, prompting Xerxes to run and finally to fly in pursuit of the yummy morsel. By the time they reached the marble banking room, the dragon was salivating and snapping; he swallowed the rat without a single chew.

They burst through the door to the impressive sight of every Gringotts dragon in all their enormous, colorful splendor crammed into the room, pawing and huffing impatiently as Mateo and Tonia walked among them soothing them with quiet words and hypnotic glances.

"There you are!" scolded Mateo. "I was about to go looking for you!"

Lucius and Draco slid off Xerxes' back, only to have a nearby dragon growl and snap at them. In a heartbeat Lucius' wand was out, though unnecessary; Xerxes roared and snorted a stream of fire at the offending animal, making it back up and lower its head.

"That's my dragon," Lucius murmured. He put an arm round Xerxes' neck to pet him one last time. "Take care of yourself."

Looking at Mateo, he nodded. In an instant he and Draco were once more under _disillusion_ charms. Tonia and Mateo herded the dragons past the spellbound goblins toward the doors, which were shattered off their hinges from the weight of the creatures shoving at them. The animals screamed in delight at the fresh air and took to flight.

"Son?"

"Yes, Father?"

"I enjoyed spending time with you tonight. Let's go home and tell your mother all about it."

Draco and Lucius each latched onto one of the vampires in preparation to apparate the moment they were outside the bank. The couple tottered outside and promptly disapparated with the wizards.

Meanwhile, the goblins who'd been so cooperative in this escapade were shaking off the last effects of hypnosis and becoming hysterical at the sight of their dragons flying away, the doors broken from their hinges, and no idea how any of it had come to pass.


	55. Breakups, breakdowns, and breakins

Death Eater No More—Chapter Fifty-Five (Breakups, breakdowns, and break-ins)

Breakfast passed in a surprisingly uneventful, quiet manner on the first day of school after Easter holidays…aside from the not-so-covert pointing and whispering at the fact that Severus and Aline were seated next to each other for the first time _ever_ at the staff table. And students appeared to have noticed, too.

When Hermione, who'd sat beside Aline, noted Snape in conversation with Professor McGonagall, she leaned over with a curious glint in her eye. "It's rather unusual for you to—I thought you hated him." She stopped, thunderstruck, then chattered in an excited whisper, "Oh my God, are you seeing Professor Snape?"

Aline smiled and nodded. "For a few weeks now." Why did everyone seem so surprised by that revelation? Oh, yes, now she remembered: for the most part her relationship with Severus had been banshee versus bastard. A precedent like that shattered by romance was bound to bring attention.

Hermione absorbed the information in silence, wondering why the news didn't bother her as she'd thought it would. Apparently she'd gotten over her silly crush ages ago! She remarked, "I can't think of anyone more suited to him."

"I hope that's a flattering commentary," Aline returned wryly.

"Oh, of course!" Hermione assured her. "Professor Snape is intelligent—brilliant, actually, at Potions—he truly cares about the welfare of his students, he's loyal and devoted. You're very lucky." The more she talked, the more glum she became.

"Hermione, has something happened? You look sad." Aline resisted the urge to reach out and lay a hand on the other woman's arm. As much as she'd like to comfort the young witch, she'd prefer not to incite more visions.

Hermione frowned and her face fell. "I broke up with Ron."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Aline murmured. She didn't know Hermione well enough to ask for details, sparing her the awkwardness it would undoubtedly cause, and she wasn't exactly stellar at dealing with breakups, whether her own or another's. "Would you like me to offer the customary platitudes? Let's see: he didn't deserve you, you can do so much better, and he was undoubtedly a dork and a fool for letting you go."

Cracking a grin, Hermione said, "That's what his sister told me! Don't get me wrong, she loves Ron, but she always said she didn't understand why we were together when we have so little in common."

"Even though common ground isn't necessarily a deciding factor, a witch of your intellect and talent will have no problem finding a wizard more in line with your thinking." Aline grimaced, mentally kicking herself. "I'm sorry, that sounded so callous. You must miss Ron."

Here Harry, who'd skulked up behind them, broke in, "She ought to, she and Ron have been an item for ages."

"I don't recall inviting you to join the conversation, Harry," clipped Hermione icily.

"I heard you talking about Ron," retorted Harry. "Just wanted to make sure you didn't shove all the blame off on him."

"It's none of your business!" hissed Hermione. "How dare you sneak up and spy on my conversation! If you'd kept your nose where it belonged, none of this would've happened!" She got up, pushing Harry backward so hard he stumbled as she grabbed up her bag and stormed out.

By now their quarrel had invited Snape's attention. He'd turned halfway around in his chair to pierce Harry with cold, steely black orbs, his whole being emanating a seemingly out of place malevolence. In a smooth, low tone he drawled, "I've always compared you to your father, but it appears everyone was right—you're very much like your mother, meddling in things you don't understand."

Harry gaped at him, thrown for a loop at the reference to his mother, not sure what to say.

Severus sneered at his discomfort. "In case you're baffled, and Merlin knows it doesn't take much to get you to that point, that's not a compliment, Potter. Lily wasn't the saint people at Hogwarts thought she was."

"She died for me!" exclaimed Harry, fortunately not loud enough for the pupils to hear, though a few of them had noticed the unusual exchange going on at the staff table.

"Any decent mother would die for her child!" hissed Severus, losing the sneer only to have it replaced by a sudden look of fury. For a split second Aline feared he might spring from his chair to attack the young man. "How many would feed a love potion to a boy and let him suffer for the rest of his life over it?" At Harry's puzzled, incredulous visage he spat, "Yes, that's what she did to _me_. And following in her footsteps you take it upon yourself to insinuate yourself into other people's affairs where you're neither wanted nor needed."

Harry felt the sensation of an odd weight crushing his chest and thought he might start to hyperventilate. Snape couldn't be saying these things, he _loved_ Lily! Maybe he was an imposter! "I don't believe you," he muttered through clenched teeth.

"Of course you don't. Lily Evans could do no wrong." The sneer had returned, though it was a distinctly malicious variety. "Regrettably, I was of the same opinion for far too long. Why don't you scurry on to my office and view the memory yourself? You're familiar with pensieves."

Panting in helpless rage, Harry balled his fists so tight his fingernails cut into the palms of his hands. "You're lying! My mother wouldn't do such a thing!" All at once he bolted out the side door.

Severus reclined back in his chair with a self-satisfied smile. The brat would look at the memory, he wouldn't be able to withstand the temptation, and he'd get to see how flawed his 'perfect' mother had been after all. If she couldn't suffer for what she'd done, it fell to her whelp.

"Severus, that was a tad mean," said Aline quietly.

"But accurate," he replied, swiveling to face her head on. "Under Dumbledore we had secrets and half truths that bred mistrust and enmity. It's time we told the bare facts."

Rather than argue, Aline merely clasped his hand in hers under the tablecloth, their fingers intertwining. He couldn't deceive her so easily, it was plain to see he only desired to hurt Harry with his declaration about Lily. He demanded the truth when it was convenient, yet he harbored a multitude of his own secrets. Not that she'd compare Severus to Dumbledore; the old wizard had been a genius and a fool at once. Severus had told her in a bitter diatribe all about his spy work for Dumbledore, of putting his life on the line over and over while being reminded of Lily time and again, of Snape's guilt being used against him while Dumbledore refused to tell Harry or Severus everything they needed to know. It must have been hell for him working for the old professor.

She didn't have to hear Severus say it to know it was so, for his body language and treatment of Potter spoke volumes; he was angry and resentful about the whole love potion affair, and who wouldn't be? He felt betrayed by a girl he had always held on a pedestal as the epitome of a good person…a good person who watched him agonize over her for years and didn't lift a finger to help him.

It made Aline's blood boil to dwell on it. Had Lily enjoyed Severus' suffering, his hanging after her like a trained puppy? She must have or she'd have put a stop to it. Or in her infernal flakiness had she simply forgotten about the entire thing like Severus had? Did his love mean so little to her? Evidently it did. How could it fail to make Severus feel worthless, so insignificant that his 'friend' either liked to see him in pain—not surprising considering how her Marauder cronies loved to torment him—or she merely couldn't bother to recall she'd dosed him with a powerful love potion? Aline experienced a vivid, violent desire to throttle the bitch.

"I should get to the lab," she said, looking up into his eyes and expecting fury. While relatively inscrutable, they held no animosity toward her—a nice change of pace, really, from their vitriolic beginnings. She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back. "See you soon."

"I'll see you later," he answered softly. He started to lean in for a kiss and halted abruptly. They could both do without the mortifying fallout of the students witnessing _that_. "Soon."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Wallace Marshal gave himself a final once-over in the mirror, angling his face and wiggling his eyebrows as he grinned at his reflection. Yes indeed, he was one handsome wizard. As Walden Macnair he'd been good looking, but that Muggle surgery had straightened out minor imperfections and smoothed away a few years while giving him new features and a new identity. He'd gotten used to wearing a short ponytail, he'd even learned to live without a mustache, not too hard to do when pretty witches eyed him the way they did. All in all, despite the disgust of having to associate with sub-humans to achieve the look, he was extremely pleased with the result.

"Stop admiring yourself, you wanker," Rabastan snorted as he entered the room.

"I've got a date tomorrow, I won't be wanking for long. How about you?" returned Marshal cockily, shooting him a withering glare. "And like you haven't spent hours inspecting _your_ new face?"

"Not all at once. We don't have all day, let's go." If he faltered now he'd lose his nerve.

"Your brother's gonna shit a brick," laughed Marshal, his rumbling tone lower…sexier…than it used to be, thanks to the voice-altering potion Malfoy had forced him to drink. "But I suppose he'll be glad to see you."

Rabastan didn't answer. He wasn't even quite sure how _he_ felt about meeting with his brother after the last fight they'd had. There was no telling how Dolph might react—to his running away, to getting his face changed, to…everything.

"Of course, if he finds out you've been hiding in my flat he'll A.K. my ass, so keep your mouth shut about it," warned Marshal.

"I'm not planning to discuss you at all, get over yourself," griped Rabastan. He picked up his cloak. It was late April, he wouldn't need it, would he? Then again, the gusty wind up at the castle was perennially cold. He swung it round his shoulders and fixed the clasp about his neck. "I'm ready."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Marshal hadn't been back to the Lestrange place since Malfoy's temper tantrum over teaching Draco to throw axes. Honestly, Lucius mollycoddled the kid. Why, when _he_ was a boy his father had trained him in all manner of weapons from the time he could hold them. Oh sure, there'd been the occasional bad accidents, but luckily his mother had studied medicine and had almost become a medi-witch. Without her, he'd be stumping along on a wooden leg with three fewer fingers. What was his point again?

He arrived and called out to the occupants of the house. Better to be safe than sorry. "Rodolphus! Nott! It's Mac—Marshal!"

Udo Nott ambled around from the side of the house where he'd been planting a vegetable garden with his wife. "Hey, Marshal, what's up?"

"I'm looking for Rodolphus."

He didn't need to wait at all, for Lestrange had come out onto the porch. "Marshal. Do you need something?"

Wallace shook his head as he approached. He didn't remember the porch looking this good; in fact, as he recalled it had been a dilapidated wreck when he stayed here. The bottom of the stairs was close enough. Strangely enough, somehow his hand had crept into his pocket and latched onto his wand. "Roddy, I have news. It's about your brother."

The tan in Rodolphus' face paled without so much as a blink to indicate he felt anything, tribute to the discipline established from years of serving a madman and having spent a good part of his life in prison. Macnair wouldn't have come unless it was bad news. How was he to brace himself in the face of what was surely a terrible portent? He'd lived with death all around him for most of his life, he'd dealt out the death more times than he cared to count, yet it cut him to his soul to imagine Rabby meeting his end. Gruffly he asked, "What news?"

"Rabastan wants you to meet him at the old castle ruins." Instantly Rodolphus began to pound down the steps, and Wallace backed up in alarm, drew his wand, and aimed it directly at Lestrange's chest.

Rodolphus stopped cold. "What the f—k, Macnair!"

"I don't want you attacking me," replied the other calmly. "And it's _Marshal_."

"Why would I attack you, you dumbshit?" exclaimed Rodolphus. "I'm clearing the anti-apparition barrier."

"Wait." Marshal lowered his wand, the seriousness in his tone evident. "He doesn't look like himself anymore, he's had surgery like I did. His voice is still the same, though."

"What does he look like?" asked Nott, who'd listened in on the entire conversation and finally came over to join them.

"You'll see soon enough," said Marshal, waving Rodolphus by. "Right now he's anxious to talk to his brother." He turned to look behind him but Rodolphus had already gone.

An excited yet wary Rodolphus apparated to their old stomping grounds where a man in a black cloak sat hunched over on a portion of the rubble wall, his head resting in his hands. If Marshal had set him up, he'd kill this wizard then track down the traitor and torture him into insanity. And then butcher him. Slowly.

Stealthily, wand in hand, he shortened the distance between them, carefully keeping watch on the surrounding area. It took three tries for his mouth to cooperate. "Rabby?"

The wizard jerked upright and whirled, his wand pointed with unerring accuracy. Seeing his brother, he let his arm fall to his side. "Hi, Dolph."

"Rabby," Rodolphus repeated in a near whisper, head tilted slightly, eyes studying this face for signs of familiarity. The dark hair was the same, a surgeon couldn't change that, though he now wore it in a cropped military style instead of a wavy mane to his collar. He sported a thin mustache that made him look a bit rakish. The nose that had been broken from too many bouts with their father was straight and smaller, rounded gently at the tip. Like Macnair, his cheekbones had been made more prominent. Even the skin above his eyes had been pulled up tighter to give a more youthful look. Everything said, it created a pleasing picture that was different enough to fool the casual observer, or anyone who didn't know he'd undergone surgery.

"You healed really fast," he blurted without thinking. He ought to have commented that the bloke looked good or something.

"Healing potions," Rabastan murmured. Perplexingly, he couldn't think of what he'd meant to say.

"I missed you. Rab…I'm sorry." Rodolphus held out a hand in supplication, desperately wishing for his brother to take it, yet he didn't. It made his stomach sink until he felt ill.

Rabastan's gaze didn't waver, though his chin quivered. "Sorry for what? Do you even know?" He sank back onto the crumbled wall and pulled his cloak around himself like a womb.

For the briefest moment Rodolphus thought his best bet was to lie—lie through his teeth, say whatever his brother needed to hear, anything to break through the cloud of tension suffocating them. Yet he couldn't. He could lie to anyone on Earth without qualms if it served his purpose…anyone except his little brother, the only one who truly meant the world to him. His falsehoods and omissions, while well-intentioned, had opened an enormous chasm between them that more lies could never bridge.

Slowly he shook his head and sat down heavily on the rock heap next to Rabastan. "I'm sorry I hurt you, and that I wasn't honest with you. I wish—I wish I could say I'm sorry about Uncle Varden, but I can't. He was a filthy pervert and he got what he had coming."

There was a horribly long period of silence that seemed to stretch into eternity.

At last, in a soft trembling voice Rabastan said, "I've had nothing to do but _think_ in these past weeks, and I've spent a good deal of time doing just that. I understand why you killed him, I really do. You wanted to protect me or avenge me, or both. And I love you for that." He averted his face and dropped his head as a tear coursed down his cheek. "The thing is, it was _my_ right to exact revenge and you took it from me. All my life, decisions were made for me and I went along. Even in Varden's death, _you_ made the decision and _I_ have to live with it. Do you have any idea how powerless I feel?" A wash of tears swept over him and he dragged his sleeve roughly across his face.

"You're a very strong wizard, nothing close to powerless," objected Rodolphus, his heart feeling quite a bit warmer from his brother's declaration of love.

Rabastan wheeled on him, his tear-smeared face full of anguish. "Don't you get it?" he shouted, suddenly shoving Rodolphus in the chest with both hands, almost knocking him off the short wall. "I've always been powerless! Dad beat me into submission, Varden manipulated me into doing what he wanted, and you used your status as big brother to dictate the rest of my life and I let you because I didn't know how to live without being ordered around!"

Rodolphus righted himself from his brother's shove in time to avoid a nasty fall that in all likelihood would have involved severe head trauma. "You don't understand—"

"Don't tell me I don't understand! For once just listen to me!" Rabastan swallowed a lump, took a deep breath to calm himself, and continued on more quietly. "I made a superb Death Eater because the dark lord took dad's place, all I had to do was obey. Torturing and murdering people was the only thing that made me feel in control. How bloody sick is that? I was good for nothing but mayhem and destruction. In analyzing my pathetic life, I've finally figured out my place in the world: I'm a puppet, Dolph. I'm not a human being, I'm a f—king useless _puppet_!"

If it didn't ache so much inside he'd have laughed; it hurt too much even to cry, so he simply stared lifelessly at the other man. He didn't anticipate what Dolph's response would be, he hadn't thought that far ahead. He said what he had to say, and now he had nothing to show for it except a gaping hole where his heart ought to be.

Listening to Rabastan pour out his pain was like having boiling oil poured over his skin to Rodolphus; to comprehend the depth of the man's self-loathing and the worthlessness he'd carried like a burden his entire life crushed Rodolphus' heart. To learn that _he_ was a big part of the problem made him wish he'd managed to dash his brains out on the stones earlier in hopes of easing Rabastan's misery.

"Rabby, that's not true." He stretched out a hand to his brother, only to have the latter shake it off his shoulder. "Alright, you're right. Maybe you were sort of a puppet, but you're not now. Dad, Varden, Voldemort—they're all gone." _Only they're not the problem now, are they?_ He sucked in a sob with a hard breath, his chest aching from what he had to say. "And if—and if you want me to leave you alone, I will, but please don't do that to me. You're my brother, you're the only one that really means anything to me—"

His voice cracked, he dropped his head, and all at once he started to weep as he hadn't done since prison when he'd found out about Bella's death. He couldn't lose the only person he had left in the world, it would kill him!

Startled and bewildered by the unexpected breakdown, Rabastan started to go to pieces. Dolph was the strong one, he'd always been. The few times he'd seen his older brother cry had unnerved him terribly, as it did now. He leaned in and grasped Rodolphus' arms to shake him lightly. "Come on, Dolph, you're scaring me. Don't cry."

"What do you want me to do?" bellowed Rodolphus, manfully struggling to contain the heartrending sobs begging to burst forth. "I need you and—and you don't need me. I'm just hurting you." Try as he might, the tears continued to flow. He slammed a hard fist onto his thigh; the pain helped to remind him he was still alive. He lifted the fist for another blow.

"Stop it!" snarled Rabastan, grabbing Rodolphus' fist to prevent him from striking himself again. "I _do_ need you, I just—I need things to be different. I don't want to live in Varden's house anymore, I don't want you telling me what to do. I want a _life_!"

Through the agonizing haze of guilt and grief the words reached Rodolphus. Hesitantly he asked, "And can I be part of that life if I stop being bossy?"

"I want you to be. You and me, we're all we have, Dolph. It's kind of sad and pitiful, but it's the way it is," Rabastan said softly. Friends were fine if they could be truly trusted; experience at the dark lord's side had taught him that friends were only too willing to flip allegiance to save themselves, and he counted himself among the culpable there. Brothers were forever. "If you get the surgery like I did, then we can go wherever we want, change our names…be somebody decent. It's not too late for that, is it?"

Rodolphus wagged his head as he fetched a handkerchief from his pocket to mop his face. This idea of Rabby's was insidiously contagious. Why couldn't they start over, make a whole new life? Marshal had become a wizard butcher in London and had his own flat and a girlfriend, he seemed to be doing great. They could move far from their old home, find a nice mid-size town where no one knew them or would question their presence. "No, it's not too late. I have that potion Lucius gave me to alter our voices, too."

Suddenly animated, excited to see his brother engrossed in the plan, Rabastan added almost shyly, "I chose a new name. Jorab Goodman."

"Jorab?" asked his brother, brows furrowed.

"So you can still call me 'Rabby'," replied Rabastan, grinning now. "And—and I thought you could be Wendolph Goodman—you know, so I could still call you 'Dolph'. _Rudolph_ and _Randolph_ are a bit too obvious, yeah?"

Rodolphus, observing the eagerness he'd rarely seen in his brother, started to chuckle deep in his stomach, his body shaking with silent laughter. With one hand hooked behind Rabastan's neck, he drew his brother into a rib-crushing embrace. "That's the best idea I've heard in a good long while, Rabby. Whenever you're ready, lead the way to that Muggle doctor."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Diagon Alley in front of Gringotts Bank was jammed with people, all of them clamoring for answers from the Head of Gringotts, demanding he make an appearance. A break-in at the bank was no small matter, investors and customers alike were both angry and concerned with good reason: if such an occurrence had happened with their tight security, what might happen without the dragons?

In the basement of the building adjacent to the bank, two goblins watched the scene through the filth covered, ground level window. A plump witch in a purple robe that made her resemble a plum had gotten up on the steps of Gringotts.

"We all know they're trying to blame W.A.W.M.U.M.A. for the break-in and for freeing the dragons from the wicked bondage those goblins use. We are innocent, but I bemoan the fact that we didn't think of it first!" A segment of the crowd erupted in cheers.

"W.A.W.M.U.M.A.?" asked Karnak, turning to Griphook with a curious expression.

"Wizards and Witches for the Moral Usage of Magical Animals," translated Griphook, rolling his beady eyes. "They think we were 'mean' to their precious beasts."

"You were," said Karnak bluntly, not caring one way or the other. He shifted on the box they shared to stand on in order to see out the window. "I'm wondering how secure the most valuable vaults are now with those creatures out of the picture."

The woman outside continued to rant about the plight of the dragons, accompanied now by a nondescript wizard with an enchanted quill taking notes. "What do they even need dragons for? They've got their goblin magic to reinforce special vaults. I've heard if a thief even touches the door, he's sucked inside to suffocate."

"It's true," Griphook giggled, and was joined by Karnak in laughter. Soon they sobered; if the Gringotts goblins had indeed protected the vaults in this manner, and they very well may have, they could kiss goodbye all hopes of tunneling in and swiping some glorious loot.

"So," said Chadwick Tolman loudly in order for the throng to hear. "Even though a witness saw an old witch and wizard apparating away, which disputes the theory of an inside job by goblins, you deny that these people are involved with your organization?"

"Yes, I deny it," snapped the witch. "Sympathy in the face of animal cruelty doesn't make us criminals!"

"Do you plan to use this break-in to push for a new law against the use of dragons?" asked Chadwick enthusiastically while his quill scribbled away.

"Certainly—and there are plenty of influential people on our side…"

"Get your elbow out of my face," complained Griphook.

In response Karnak slammed the offending elbow directly into Griphook's eye. The latter howled and fell off the box. "Better?" sneered Karnak, showing his pointy teeth.

Griphook swore under his breath as he climbed back up nursing his swollen eye, then his clawed hands clutched the stone windowsill tightly. Mounting the steps of the bank to talk to the reporter was Lucius Malfoy! Oh, how he despised that yellow-headed wand carrier, more so since the attempted robbery and subsequent torture at the human's hands.

Lucius wore a serious face, one that promised to delve into the matter and find answers. "Yes, Mr. Tolman, it is true that my vault had been guarded by a dragon. While I agree in principle with W.A.W.M.U.M.A. that the goblin treatment of the dragons was abysmal and despicable, this really isn't my fight."

"But you're one of the prominent members of the community, your vault contains more wealth than probably any of the others. Aren't you concerned that your possessions are no longer secure?" inquired Tolman in surprise. He'd have thought Malfoy would be bouncing in rage.

"Not at all," smiled Lucius. Not when his was protected by the strongest of blood wards; the dark lord had assured his few select followers when he taught them the spell that NO ONE could cross if they were not of the same blood. That included the filthy goblins. He'd have used it on his house if it didn't completely preclude having guests.

"What if someone tries to breach your vault?" insisted Chadwick.

"I have to believe our goblin friends of Gringotts are intelligent enough to have immediately placed spells to secure our possessions." _And if they haven't, this might serve as a reminder for them to do so._

"You have this on authority?" panted Tolman. That would explain why he wasn't upset!

"Not yet. _My_ main concern is this: who is responsible? For all we know, the goblins wanted for murder and burglary may be the culprits. Griphook used to work for Gringotts, he knows the system like the back of his swarthy, grubby little hand!" A new cheer rang up from the crowd along with cries for goblin blood. Malfoy smiled demurely; nothing like throwing old enemies to the lions and shifting the blame at the same time. All in a day's work.

Karnak spat on the ground. "He blames _us_? And you know why, you pile of dung? Because you had to go and break into his house after I told you to _wait_!" A kick to the stomach sent Griphook tumbling back onto the floor holding his gut. "Now they won't give us a moment's peace, they'll be after us in full force."

Karnak jumped down off the crate. "Let's go consult the Mirror again. Maybe this time it can give a clear picture of what's to come if we try to enter the bank. The others are getting restless, we need to find another job soon. We're all tired of robbing graves."


	56. What if?

Death Eater No More—Chapter Fifty-Six (What if?)

"Because we're tired of hiding and sneaking into graves," griped Ratell. Of the entire troupe of goblins, only his human-speak was as advanced as the other two huddled in the corner of a new cavern in Diagon Alley dug under one of the abandoned buildings that had been destroyed by Death Eaters during the ridiculous human war.

"The wand carriers are on guard now, we don't know which ones have extra security measures in place—or might have by the time we got to their homes," snapped Karnak. They could consult the Mirror of Erised and be guaranteed smooth passage, only to arrive a few days later to find the wizards had erected barriers and spells. The questions asked of the Mirror had to be unambiguous and not too far reaching or no true answers could be had. "We could enter a house to have horrible curses poured on us, or even more carnage of the Malfoy variety." He glared over at Griphook, who sank back against the dank wall as if anticipating another round of punching bag festivities.

They'd already discussed the futility of attempting invasion of Hogwarts where aurors now patrolled the hallways. Other notable goblin artifacts were typically housed in the homes of wealthy wizards, who as aforementioned had likely beefed up their security in the wake of the bank break-in and the Malfoy incident. Attacking such establishments was tantamount to turning themselves in and asking to be drawn and quartered…or murdered on the spot, a merciful ending compared to the option.

Griphook ventured, "There are shops here in Diagon Alley and in Knockturn Alley that we could rob. We won't get many of our possessions back, but we'll get money and metal to melt down for weapons."

"And it'll be fun!" squealed Ratell, his beady eyes gleaming.

Karnak sat in silence for a bit to contemplate while Griphook and Ratell engaged in a slapping match over who got the last raw sausage on the plate they'd shared among the three. If they raided shops, would the wizards know it was the goblin group or would they suspect human thugs? Tunneling through the ground was a dead giveaway, but what about breaking in through the roof? The tactic wasn't one they'd ever used; however, once it was done security everywhere would increase, so they'd have to hit as many shops as possible in one night. First to consult the Mirror.

He got up, kicked at the two idiots growling and rolling on the ground, and headed to the other side of the cave where the Mirror stood and several goblins were taking turns asking it questions in their tongue, the only language it responded to.

"_Eb otef iwyme e semtel,"_ (Show me my future wife) ordered a goblin.

The request being too far in the future, too many potential choices and outcomes, the image on the face of the Mirror became a white, blurry, amorphous mass of fuzz.

"_Thin ot Gringotts otnika erb ewfi ruccol liw taw?"_ (What will happen if we break into Gringotts tonight?) asked another goblin.

The Mirror turned a deep, glossy black; it faded in until a vivid moving picture much like a television screen covered the area. It displayed the gang of goblins running through stone and earth tunnels being pursued by other goblins with long knives and sharp swords, screaming and swearing. The image shifted like a fast-forward and suddenly the two groups were in the throes of a vicious clash. Some of the goblins watching the scene gulped and pointed at the corpses lying dead on the floor of the tunnel, particularly those who saw _themselves_ as dead bodies. Definitely not a reassuring future.

The goblin who'd asked about a wife tore his eyes from the devastation to ask, "_Eviv rusi liw?"_ (Will I live?)

The Mirror presented him a still image of his broken, bloodied body lying on a heap of other bodies, and he gave an appalled squeak. Karnak had stood back watching his recruits, who for obvious reasons were becoming agitated. It was time to redirect their attention, subdue their fears if only by making them forget about them. He charged forward, yanked the moaning goblin by his long ear away from the Mirror, and punched him in the back of the head.

"_Seir ik nidi puts ekam ow esot otsnep pahtaw suwos,"_ (Reveal for us what happens to those who ask stupid questions) he growled.

The Mirror obligingly sprang to life with full moving pictures of Karnak pounding the stuffing out of the goblin. A few of his companions tittered, while they all backed up to make room for the boss. As the scene faded out, Karnak advanced on the cowering goblin. Fear of death might send his pack scurrying away, depleting his ranks; fear of the leader…_that_ they could handle.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Severus, I'm very disappointed in you." Albus looked down solemnly from his portrait, his eyes at a mere half-twinkle capacity.

Snape, who'd barely walked into his office and was in no mood for lectures, glanced over at him with a bored grimace. "So what's new?"

"It was cruel of you to send Harry in here to view that memory of his mother!" Dumbledore barked, his twinkle fading fast. "He's already experienced the disillusionment of seeing his father as a bully."

"Boo-hoo!" Severus snapped, storming over to face him. "It's about bloody time he sees the world as it is! And _you_ dare suggest I mollycoddle the brat after you left him to fend for himself for ten years with that pack of animals you call a family?"

"I refuse to be sucked into that conversation again. He needed blood protection, I don't apologize for that—"

"You don't apologize for anything, do you, Albus?" Snape crossed his arms and sat back on the edge of his desk. "Fine, I won't revisit the Dursley debacle, but I won't grovel to the whelp, either. If Lily hadn't drugged me, who knows how my life may have turned out?"

"That is not Harry's fault!" thundered the aged wizard, startling Snape into a hush. "James mistreated you; Harry is not James! Lily gave you a love potion—which you ingested willingly enough, I might add; Harry is not Lily. Why must you punish him for the sins of his parents?"

Severus squeezed shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Nope, headache was still there. "There are a plethora of reasons to punish the Boy Wonder on his own merits, is that what you're saying? Nonetheless, my whole life might have been different if my heart hadn't been tied to Lily. How am I supposed to feel?" He threw up his hands and sneered. "Oh, right—I'm _not_! I'm the Bat of the Dungeons, the unfeeling bastard whose only purposes in life were to protect an ungrateful, make-life-hell-for-me Potter and to help bring down the dark lord. Now that my chores are accomplished, shall I curl up in the corner to die?"

"Don't take that tone with me, Severus," commanded Dumbledore. "You admitted to Aline that you forgot about the potion. Did it not occur to you that Lily had also forgotten? You were children!"

"Does that mean I haven't the right to speculate how it affected me? For instance, my relationship with Glenna. Would I have married her and raised my daughter?" shot back the Potions master, lifting his chin defiantly.

"You feared marriage long before you met Glenna—or Lily, for that matter," commented Albus dryly. "Your parents' constant bickering had a far greater effect than the potion. And your position as a Death Eater and spy precluded having Jacinta near you in order to protect her from Voldemort."

"Well—maybe I wouldn't have even become a Death Eater!" Severus shouted back. "Maybe I was trying to impress Lily because I 'loved' her!"

Dumbledore actually laughed, causing Snape's eyes to flame. "Are you suggesting Lily pressured you? Did you then or do you now truly believe she'd be impressed by that? Your friendship was already broken at that point, and she despised Death Eaters. Be honest with yourself: you were trying to impress your Slytherin mates and to intimidate your enemies."

"I wouldn't have needed to intimidate my enemies if you'd done your job and kept them from bullying me!"

The accusation hung in the air as Snape projected death glares at the thankfully already deceased Dumbledore, who mulled it over while he nodded slowly. "I accept my part of the responsibility. Given a chance, I would change many things I did, and many I did not do but should have done. I am far more to blame for the choices you made than Lily ever was, and for that I am truly sorry."

"Now you're just trying to be annoying by agreeing with me," groused Severus, sulking.

Dumbledore had some valid points that would require a great deal of torture for Severus to admit, though he couldn't help rolling the possibilities around in his head. Most likely he'd have still become a Death Eater, Lily really had nothing to do with that…but would he have tried to save her life after he gave Voldemort the prophecy? If not, he'd have never been a spy for Dumbledore—a plus right there—but Lily's love would not then have protected the Brat-Who-Lived, who would have become simply another casualty in the war. Voldemort would have won, no one would have destroyed the horcruxes, and Snape would probably have died a hardened Death Eater. Alright, so that scenario sucked. Or perhaps out of misplaced loyalty toward an old friend who'd done him wrong he'd have asked the dark lord to spare Lily's life, in which case things would have proceeded exactly as they had. If, if….

He snapped out of his ruminations in time to hear the tail end of a long-winded soliloquy by Dumbledore. "…so in the final analysis, Lily did a terrible thing that may have influenced you in untold ways, yet when it comes down to it _you alone_ are responsible for the choices you make." From a bowl on his lap he popped a raspberry drop into his mouth and smiled.

Snape rolled his eyes at the exact same moment the floo sprang to life. No one came out, nor was anyone calling him, so he got up and cautiously moved to the fireplace where a fist-sized package sat in the coals. He bent over, picked it up, and carefully wiped off the soot to read the bold-lettered address on the box. It was from the newest Headmaster of Durmstrang.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

After the last time he'd seen Gloria, it felt strange for Sammy to give her orders even if he was a prefect. Hell, she could have become _engaged_ to him…if it weren't for Bayly, that is. Not that he regretted the way things were, he'd only ever thought of Gloria as a pleasant girl, a friend under the broadest constraints of the word. However, he _was_ a prefect and she was loitering in the hallway during class hours.

"Gloria, don't you have class now?" he asked, ambling up to her.

She seemed taken by surprise, lost in her own little world. "Oh, Sammy! Hi, I'm waiting for Bayly. I wanted to thank you for what you said at my house, it was very gallant." Her brows dipped into a worried frown. "Your dad didn't hurt you, did he?"

Samson shook his head as he leaned his shoulder up against the wall next to her, towering over her. "No, he yelled a lot. I think it was escalating to the smacking stage when Hannah took my part and said they ought to leave me be. It's nice having my sister on my side for a change."

"I'm so relieved it worked out." She shifted a pile of books in her arms.

Without being asked Sammy reached over and plucked them from her. They looked heavy and she looked exhausted with those black circles under her eyes. "The only problem is Hannah hinted I was seeing a girl at school, so now I need to find one."

"That shouldn't be hard to do," remarked Gloria, critically eyeing him up and down. She had to concede Samson was not bad looking, tall, strong, kind—he was quite a catch. "What about Magda? It's common knowledge she likes you."

Sammy gave her a perplexed frown. Why did everybody say that? Okay, not _everybody_, but Professor Conn and now Gloria. Sammy tended to be awkward around girls, he'd never actually had a girlfriend, he wasn't attuned to the subtleties of a witch's behavior. Magda had never acted like she cared…had she? She _had_ seemed rather jealous about his crush on Miss Conn. And she looked at him a lot in a way he always assumed was getting ready to say something bitchy which, come to think of it, she rarely did. She was pretty, in her way…he wouldn't mind having her on his arm. "Huh. Maybe I ought to ask her out."

"I'll bet she says yes."

"What about you?" asked Sammy, getting back to the subject. "Did your parents pitch a fit?"

Gloria snorted, not the most ladylike noise she could have made. "No. They still had six more men that they made me meet over the next few days. I told them it's no use, but they keep pushing."

"What did Young say?" inquired Sammy. As she let her face fall, he yelped incredulously, "You didn't tell him, did you?"

"What good would it do? Then he'd be upset, too," Gloria protested weakly. "I don't want to hurt him."

"He's your boyfriend! You have to tell him," insisted the young man.

At that moment Bayly had come strolling quietly up the corridor. He stopped beside the girl to give her a peck on the cheek. To his disconcertion, she was trembling. "Gloria, what's wrong?"

Sammy foisted the weighty stack of books off on Bayly by shoving them into his arms, and then he glanced from one Ravenclaw to the other. "Gloria, either you tell him or I will."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Severus unwrapped the bare brown paper from the tiny box and opened it to reveal an unmarked jar of ointment. Removing the lid, he cautiously sniffed the balm and his head jerked back reflexively at the smell that brought forth a tidal wave of agonizing memories. Scents of calendula, wildcrafted myrrh, comfrey assailed him—he knew this mixture, he could make it in his sleep!

The box had been addressed to Snape, though a note inside indicated it was for Bayly Young. He'd presumed the staff at St. Mungo's were competent enough to provide the boy with the medicines he needed, so why was Dimitar Tanassov sending it? And for that matter, if Bayly needed medicine, why hadn't he come to Snape? They'd worked extensively together, Severus thought he'd gained the boy's trust…

Hurt feelings aside, the cream needed to be delivered and questions needed to be asked. No point in dawdling. Perhaps Young had known Tanassov well while at Durmstrang and he felt more comfortable asking the Bulgarian for assistance. That was his right.

He sighed as he slipped the jar into a pocket of his robes and turned to go. On second thought he rounded the desk, opened the middle drawer, and stared down at the contents for a long moment; picking up a small item, he slid it into the pocket along with the salve.

In the Ravenclaw common room, the students gathered there gawked unabashedly at the Headmaster, wondering what brought him here while utilizing their tact to keep their mouths shut—literally. A pin drop could be heard when Snape entered the room. His hawk eyes swept about, finding no trace of Bayly and ignoring the rest.

When Severus reached Bayly's room, he knocked once. It felt very odd to be visiting a student's private space, yet no way in hell was he inviting a pupil to _his_ quarters, and his office seemed too stuffy for what he had to say. Besides, with all the portraits in there they'd have no privacy at all. This was a delicate situation.

Floyd swung open the door and promptly his eyes grew to the size of tennis balls while his knees nearly buckled. Damn it, Snape had found out about the firewhiskey he'd sneaked in! "P-Professor Snape. I—uh—what can we do for you?" His chalk-white visage looked fit to vomit.

"Gentlemen, I'd like to speak to Mr. Young."

Floyd and the other two boys flew out the door like ghosts on fire, making Snape smirk inwardly. He still had it! Also, their guilty little faces convinced him they were up to something, so he wandered into the room with his eyes already searching for clues. A wave of his hand shut the door behind him.

Bayly stumbled barefoot off his bed to stand at attention. "Professor, did I do something wrong? Is mum alright?"

"Your mother is fine." Severus bent down to look under one of the beds. "Are you?"

"Yes, sir," answered Bayly in a bewildered voice. What was the wizard looking for? Oh shit, if he found Floyd's firewhiskey, they'd all catch it!

Without a word Snape handed him the jar and the note that had come with it.

_Headmaster Snape,_

_Viktor Krum has asked me to send this salve for Bayly Young._

_Due to what Viktor told me and the nature of the medicine, I_

_must ask you to appraise the situation and let me know if there_

_is anything further I can do._

_D. Tanassov_

Bayly finished reading and glanced up in embarrassment to see Snape poking among the books on his roommate's desk. "I don't know what this is about. I didn't ask Viktor to talk to him."

Just as he was about to open a wardrobe, Severus stopped and turned to face the boy. "Were you injured over the holiday?"

"No, sir."

The door to the wardrobe clicked open and Severus glimpsed rapidly about, pursing his lips in disgust at the mess inside. Had these children no pride whatsoever? "Remove your shirt, please."

Bayly gulped, round eyed, looking close to panic. "Please, I didn't do anything!" Instinctively he shrank back through the wards surrounding his bed, where he felt safe.

The move did not go unnoticed. Severus made a point of backing up a step to give the boy space. Swallowing his misgivings and mortification at what he was about to do, he reached into his robes and removed a plain silver tin half the length of his thumb. He tossed it to Bayly, who caught it in his free hand; his gaze bounced curiously between the object and the man.

Softly, his voice tainted with the pain of remembering, Severus said, "I carried one of those tins with me all the time when I was a boy, right up until I entered Hogwarts. It contained the same medicinal balm as the jar you hold."

_The same medicinal balm as the jar—_the jar Viktor had requested from Tanassov. The only reason Viktor would have done so was for the scars… Comprehension dawning, Bayly lifted his head to murmur, "Did someone used to hurt you, too?"

"My father," clipped the professor, forcing himself not to look away. He didn't make a habit of telling people about his past, he found it made him feel extremely vulnerable.

"I'm sorry," whispered the boy.

Snape shook his head jerkily as if trying to banish an irritating pest. "I didn't come to compare daddy-dearest horror stories. I came to ask why you didn't come to me for help, and why the doctors at St. Mungo's didn't treat your wounds."

"They did. I mean, they gave me an ointment, I just…didn't use it." Bayly bit his lower lip as he pressed his backside against the bed. He was safe here, no one could get in, it comforted him. Because it was easy to see the teacher was waiting for clarification, he went on, "At that time I was under the _scearu peine_ curse, I just wanted to die. Later on I figured it was too late to heal the scars."

"This balm is for new and old wounds. It won't completely erase the weals, but it will reduce the scarring substantially, make it far less noticeable," Severus explained. He couldn't help but wonder if the boy had subconsciously kept the scars as an attachment of sorts to psycho-dad. As awful as it sounded, children sought the acknowledgment of a parent no matter how terrible said parent was, and even negative attention was better than nothing. He was probably wrong…he sincerely hoped he was wrong.

Bayly heaved a tremendous shrug. Only now did Severus discern the depression and desperation as the boy let down his guard in defeat. "It doesn't matter anyway. No one's going to see."

"I imagine when you get married your wife will expect you to remove your clothing," said Severus dryly.

"Gloria's parents don't think I'm good enough for her, thanks to who my father was," intoned the lad bitterly. "They're trying to force her into marriage."

Severus swore mightily under his breath—at least he _thought_ it was under his breath. The astonished gasp and thoroughly shocked countenance of the boy gaping at him contradicted that belief. That damned pureblood bullshit had done so much damage yet they continued to cling to it! "Nothing is final yet, Bayly. You and Gloria still have time to convince her parents of their stupidity."

Bayly cracked a grin and started to chuckle softly. To hear someone he respected so much say it out loud made it seem more real, more achievable. "Thank you, Professor. For everything."

"You're welcome, son," rolled out of his mouth before Severus realized what he'd said. It was too late to pull it back and, truth be told, he didn't want to. To his own surprise, over the course of the year and all they'd been through together he'd come to care for the kid in a way he'd never cared for a student, Draco excluded. Nevertheless, he stiffened, anticipating a hostile response, verbal abuse, or a disgusted denial of any relationship at the least.

He received none of the above. Bayly's eyes shone at the unexpected, subtle display of something more than an ordinary Snape/pupil rapport. It so moved him that for an instant he considered lunging forward to hug the man, then wisely restrained himself. Professor Snape had made it clear when he removed the _scearu peine_ curse that he did not hug his students. Besides, he was probably only being nice out of pity, it wasn't like he actually thought of Bayly like a _son_…but it was satisfying to hear anyway.

Severus cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. "Well then, I'd best be on my way. If you need anything, all you have to do is ask."

"Yes, sir, I will. Goodnight."

On his way to the door, Snape paused to flip open the locker at the foot of Floyd's bed. Ah-ha, he'd been right! The juvenile delinquent had smuggled in alcohol! He reached in, withdrew a nearly full bottle of firewhiskey, and stood up. "Inform Mr. Warner he's got detention with me starting tomorrow." Then he stalked out carrying the bottle like a trophy.

(A/N: Sorry for the lack of Lucius. I will make it up next time.)


	57. The fault lies not in our stars

Death Eater No More—Chapter Fifty-Seven (The fault…lies not in our stars)

Draco sat in the middle of his enormous bed, legs crossed, shoes kicked carelessly onto the floor. Balanced shakily on his lap, clad only in his nappy and supported by Draco's hands, stood his brother. Ladon stared intently at the young man as if memorizing his face while his teeny hands groped and probed and stroked at Draco's eyes, cheeks, and nose.

"Dra-co. Dra-co," prompted the youth. "Now you say it. Dra-co."

Ladon skidded a ragged fingernail across his brother's chin. "Mama."

"No, I'm not Mama. Say _Draco_," persisted the elder.

The tyke giggled and babbled something highly unintelligible that he evidently thought was sheer amusing brilliance, then ended it with an emphatic, "Mama!" One little finger hooked in Draco's nostril and yanked suddenly with considerably harder force than one might predict from his wee stature.

Draco yelped and jerked his head back to the sound of gales of laughter, and not all of them were coming from the baby. Chagrined, he turned Ladon around and pulled him into his lap as Lucius sauntered in grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"It's heartening to see I'm not the only one Ladon thinks is a giant toy," he chuckled, oblivious to Draco's clear suffering at the hands of the tiny monster. Perching on the edge of the bed, he held out his hands for the baby straining, arms outstretched, towards his father.

Draco handed him the child, who cuddled up innocently against Lucius' chest and sighed. "Father, I hate to bring it up, but I think Brax is a little slow on the uptake. He won't say my name."

"He's too young to talk yet, son. 'Mama' is all we can expect for a few more months," answered the man, smoothing the blond fuzz down on the tot's head. "Weren't you supposed to dress him?"

"I was going to," replied Draco hurriedly lest he be accused of shirking. "I wanted to play with him for a while."

The expression on Lucius' face became one of surprised delight. Though Draco had always accepted his responsibility to help out with Ladon, he'd frequently bemoaned how much of a chore it was. To behold him willingly engaging his brother gave Lucius a pleasant rush of affection for them both. "You can play later if he isn't sleeping, we have company coming."

"Father, I finished the essay." He waited for the man to indicate he was listening, which Lucius did by turning and cocking his head. "It's in your study, on your desk. Basically it covers all the things you thrashed me for—the lying and stealing that caused you not to trust me, the fact that I disgraced the family and could have been put in prison…but mostly how I understand now why afflicting random Muggles is wrong." He dropped his face not as a dramatic show of contrition, rather from a real regret for what he'd done. "To torment a creature that hasn't harmed you and is helpless against you is intrinsically wrong, like the way the goblins mistreated the dragons. It's like kicking a puppy or a baby—they're essentially defenseless. What if someone did that to Brax?"

It wasn't lost on Lucius how Draco's voice choked at the end. He knew his son, he was aware of how easily the boy could regurgitate whatever it was that he thought his parents wanted to hear. This time, however, Draco's tone rang with sincerity. He'd witnessed firsthand the brutal effects of the goblins' 'training' of the dragons, the scars left from their handling. It wasn't such a great leap to apply the lesson to his brother, and then to Muggles.

"I'll read it later, though it seems you've learned what I had hoped you'd learn. You are officially no longer confined to the manor." Lucius stood and smiled with a warning undercurrent. "Remember that if you break my trust again, it will be much harder to get it back."

"I won't let you down again. Thank you for un-grounding me."

"You're showing me that you've started to mature," stated Lucius plainly, his pride showing through his businesslike façade. "You have harbored a multitude of Malfoy secrets, you spilled your blood for our family vault, and now you're taking the initiative in caring for your brother. I'm proud of you."

Draco lifted his head and grinned, then bounded off the bed. He extended his arms to pluck Ladon from the warm haven of the man's arms, eliciting a mewl of protest. "I'd better get him dressed. Tell Mother we'll be right down."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

The floo _whooshed_ and Severus came strolling out dressed in one of his finer sets of black robes that he wore mainly for Malfoy-related functions. He greeted Narcissa with a hug and Lucius with a handshake. A moment later the floo came to life again; this time Jacinta and Theo Nott stepped out together and began to brush the soot off themselves.

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy," they chorused.

"Jacinta and Theo came by to see me as I was preparing to leave," Severus explained, motioning the youngsters forward. "I trust you don't mind if they visit with Draco."

"Not at all. Draco is finally off restriction," said Lucius smoothly.

He pierced Theo with a knowing look that made the boy shrink in his shoes. Mr. Malfoy had been the one to drag him to his parents for playing Muggle, he'd been downstairs when they rebuked him quite loudly for all and sundry to hear, when Dad had whipped him. Surely he'd not forgotten about any of that. Clenching his teeth, Theo begged the Fates to be kind, not to let the wizard bring it up. The Fates responded by thumbing their noses at him.

Malfoy smirked ever so slightly as he pronounced, "You're looking well, Theodore, much better than last time I saw you."

"Thank you, sir," Theo mumbled, blushing. _Please let it drop, please don't humiliate me._

He could have fallen down and kissed the floor when Draco entered the room. "Hello, everyone." On his arm he jostled Ladon, who was outfitted in a miniature dark grey, high necked suit of robes identical to Draco's; on his feet he wore shiny new black shoes.

Jacinta couldn't resist stroking the tot's head. "Oh, he's adorable, and he's dressed just like you!"

"Well, he is my brother," Draco uttered nonchalantly, shrugging one shoulder and smiling.

"Thank you, sweetie," Narcissa said. She moved over to take the child, then kissed Draco on the cheek. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Not one for small talk when he had something on his mind, Severus addressed the youths in a brazen ploy to get them out of the way. "Why don't you kids go upstairs, I have things to discuss with the adults."

Theo understandably said nothing, he preferred to lay low so as to avoid any unpleasant references to the past. Draco struck a pose indicating he meant to counter his godfather's assertion, but Jacinta beat him to it.

"We're all adults, Papa," she taunted lightly. "I guess that means we can stay."

Snape turned on his sneer like a neon light and the boys turned tail and headed out. Nothing good ever came from that sneer. Her backup gone, Jacinta dutifully retreated and followed the boys out of the main sitting room, down the hallway, into the front parlor.

"I thought we were going upstairs." She flopped onto the loveseat next to Theo and he swung an arm around her.

"They only want to get rid of us, they don't care where we go," said Draco as he dropped into a wing chair. "Speaking of going, I'm _finally_ not grounded. We should do something to celebrate."

Theo's face lit up devilishly, his brown eyes dancing. At home it was too easy for his parents to monitor him, but in this manor there was no one to see. "That's firewhiskey in the cabinet, innit?"

Draco glanced over to where Theo's gaze lay, then he cast a withering glare that made Theo shrink for the second time. "Are you insane? I'm not getting drunk, my father would—and your dad—I was thinking more along the lines of an outing. The theatre, perhaps."

"We could have _one_ drink, we're of age," Theo insisted, tenaciously defending his suggestion. "That's what you do to celebrate."

Jacinta smiled coyly at both of them. "We could get half drunk and deal with our angry parents later, _or_ we could go see the portrait shop where I obtained a position as artist today!"

"You got a job?" exclaimed Theo. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was planning to tell you and Papa together, only that didn't quite pan out. Come on, it'll be fun. We can talk to the people in the portraits and watch the photos."

"Huh," grunted Draco curiously. "I didn't know you could paint or do photography."

"That's because you're a dork who never listens when I talk," retorted Jacinta. "Four years of classes at Beauxbatons shouldn't be wasted."

Theo stood up, his arm still wrapped around the girl who'd been hauled up with him. "Yeah, come on, Draco. It'll be fun."

Draco stood as well. It sure beat the hell out of sitting around the house moping. "Lead the way."

Back in the sitting room Severus was performing the age-old ritual of hold-the-baby-when-you-come-to-visit, and Ladon was reacting with the tried and true pull-the-visitor's-hair-while-whining-loudly counter ritual. His tiny face screwed up in preparation to kick it up a notch into high gear. Needless to say, both parties breathed a sigh of relief when Narcissa pried the drooling tyke off the Potions master with minimal loss of hair and dignity.

"I'm sorry, he's probably hungry," she apologized. At least she wouldn't cause Severus to endure uncomfortable seizures from watching her nurse the baby; the poor fellow still became embarrassed at the thought of her naked flesh. Because of her unexpected pregnancy, she'd been forced to abandon breastfeeding, which simply took too much energy on top of the energy the new child drew from her. Patting the squirming infant snuffling at her shirt, she sat down on the sofa beside Lucius and snapped her fingers. Instantly Sisidy was there.

"Yes, Mistress Malfoy? Is you wanting milk for Sisidy's precious Malfoy baby? Sisidy is thinking is time for Master Ladon to eat." The elf fawned happily over the child, petting his head and cooing at him in her high pitched squeak.

"Yes, bring me one of his bottles," instructed Narcissa. She'd barely got the order out before Sisidy was back handing her the milk. "Thank you, Sisidy."

"Sisidy is glad Mistress lets Sisidy help with precious Malfoy baby," answered the elf in all sincerity. She hung on the arm of the sofa watching the child slurp hungrily and she smiled contentedly. She'd been only a young elf when Master Abraxas had brought her to serve the family right before Master Lucius was born. She'd cared for Master Abraxas, of course, but how she'd loved her baby Master Lucius, and her love extended to his children.

Lucius, too, couldn't tear his eyes from his beloved wife feeding their son. It gave him a strong desire to sweep her into his arms along with Ladon; as that wasn't practical at the moment, he rested his hand on her thigh. That, naturally, caused him to consider where his hand might end up if he moved it just a touch…

"I had assurances this wasn't going to turn into a pornographic display of affection," drawled Severus dryly, halting Lucius' wayward hand in place.

Lucius sniffed. "I wasn't going to get frisky in front of you. I'm not an animal," he retorted.

"Yes, you are," Narcissa whispered in his ear, tittering as he chuckled.

"Apparently we've said something clever. Would you like to share?" inquired Severus in true teacher fashion. When the two met him with smirks and gleaming eyes, he reconsidered. "On second thought, please don't. You remember Bayly Young, of course."

Lucius nodded. On general principles he couldn't remove his hand from Narcissa's leg now. He did, however, slide it back from where it hung perilously close to the danger zone. "How is he doing?"

"He had been doing very well once the curse was lifted, only now his girlfriend's parents have decided he's not satisfactory marriage material."

"Why not?" asked Narcissa, suddenly attentive—and not in a happy way. "Has he done something to affront them? My mother didn't think much of Lucius at first, but I didn't let it stop me. No offense, love."

"Why would I take offense? You're not the one who rejected me," returned her husband, snuggling so close no space remained between them.

Severus ignored the typical nauseating Malfoy behavior. If they acted any differently he'd fear they'd been abducted by aliens and reprogrammed. "His pedigree is unacceptable."

Familiar with the concept of unacceptability based on blood, Lucius frowned. "He's pureblood, Dolohov wouldn't father any other kind of child. How can that be objectionable?"

"Perhaps his girlfriend isn't pureblood," Narcissa speculated.

"She is," Severus said, crossing his legs and leaning back to sip at a glass of pomegranate juice. "She's Dr. Livingston's daughter, Gloria. And the problem is precisely that: he is Dolohov's son."

"That's not his fault," cried Narcissa, growing upset. "He's nothing like that beast! Honey, didn't you say Bayly is a good, sweet boy?"

"I'm reasonably certain I didn't use the word _sweet_, my love, but that does sum it up." Lucius knocked back a shot of firewhiskey, the only shot he'd be having this evening unless he hoped for a bloodless brawl later on with his wife. "The poor lad has been through a lot, and now to lose his girl, too."

Severus rolled his eyes. Did he have to hit the wizard over the head with a pronged mallet to drive home his point? Maybe all that blond hair was dragging down on his brain! "I had rather hoped you two could ameliorate the situation. Narcissa, Dr. Livingston is your physician, is he not?"

Narcissa had set the empty bottle on the side table and hoisted Ladon over her shoulder to gently pat and rub his back. "Yes, he is. Oh, I know! I'll invite the Livingstons to dinner. Severus, you bring Bayly. Together we ought to be able to talk some sense into them."

As if to emphasize her point, Ladon let out a tremendous belch, smacked his lips, and dropped his head down to snuggle with his mother.

"That sounds like a workable plan," Snape conceded.

Narcissa was Dr. Livingston's richest, most influential patient—Lucius' status as an ex-Death Eater notwithstanding, yet the doctor hadn't tried to set his daughter up with Draco. That meant he most likely wasn't arranging a marriage for wealth. The question was this: was he looking for specific qualities, or solely looking to eliminate Bayly from the running based on his parentage? Whatever the answer, Bayly had a right to defend himself before being shunted aside like old garbage. He deserved that and so much more.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Harry couldn't wait for this school year to be over. He'd graduate, get as far from bloody Snape as humanly possible, and become an auror. Strangely, when he considered his plans for the future, the part he found himself fixated on of late was the removal from Snape part, the rest faded in comparison. He hated the arrogant prat with a passion heretofore unknown since viewing the memory of his mother with the little boy Snape. As he brooded Harry stacked up the students' quiz papers and shoved them in the desk drawer; he'd let Hermione correct them. She didn't like it when he intruded in _her_ area.

Harry slammed the desk shut and kicked it for good measure. Working with Hermione had turned out to be a terrible idea now that she and Ron were on the outs. Everything felt _weird_. She'd explained completely to Harry and Ron about the night with Viktor, and she'd forgiven them for thinking the worst of her, but she still hadn't truly made it up with Ron. For that she'd agreed to attend a family affair at the Burrow over the weekend. He hoped Ron wouldn't say something stupid, he had a tendency to do that.

"I'm sorry to intrude." Aline stood in the doorway debating whether she ought to leave. Harry didn't seem to be in a good mood, not that she could blame him. "Are you busy?"

"Uh, no," Harry answered, grinning sheepishly at the realization that she'd heard or even seen him kicking the desk. "Come on in."

Closing the door with a click, Aline walked across the floor to prevent the need for vocal gymnastics…and it felt more friendly to be nearby. She took a deep breath to calm herself. _Be direct and to the point, don't beat around the bush. How do I say this without coming off as a backbiting girlfriend?_ "Harry, I feel bad that Severus let you see that memory of your mother. He shouldn't have done that, it was deliberately cruel." _Good job, Aline, that didn't come off as backstabbing at all!_

"That's because he's a jerk, he's always been a jerk!" Potter ranted. "He put that memory in the pensieve and waited, bided his time for an opportunity—"

"No, he didn't," Aline interrupted softly, studying the floor. "I did."

"You? How—that's not possible," insisted the young wizard. "It's _his_ memory."

"You know about my clairvoyance? Well, I touched him and I saw it. Severus didn't believe me, he didn't even remember it, so I showed him," explained Aline. My, how clean and unstained the Muggle Studies classroom floor was! Astounding, really.

Shocked, Harry gaped at her in undisguised disgust. "First of all, why would you _touch_ that git? And second, why show him that?"

Aline chose to ignore the first question. She had been told by other teachers and students about Snape's reputation as a hard-ass, and she'd seen his inimitable ability to belittle and insult firsthand. He was no angel, not by a long shot. At the same time, these people had no knowledge of his kindness to Bayly and to those who felt lost and alone at Hogwarts, his veiled concern for all his students, his gentleness and passion… She and Severus had not made their relationship public, aside from whatever speculations or conclusions individuals might draw from the two of them sitting next to each other and talking. She had no intention of divulging it now.

As to the second question she responded, "I showed him so that he would take the antidote. Like the love potion, the antidote must be taken with the knowledge and consent of the individual. It wasn't fair to him or—anyone—to have his heart divided."

"So he didn't put it there—but he still thought it'd be loads of fun to watch my final illusions shatter," growled Potter.

"He was angry, Harry, with no culprit to vent it on. He feels betrayed by Lily, he wonders if his life might have been better." Aline sighed and sat on the front table closest to the teacher's desk and hooked her leg over the side. "It's unproductive reflection, but he's only human…and from what I understand, he traditionally hasn't been great at redirecting his hostilities and frustrations appropriately."

"That's an understatement, and also not my fault."

"No, it isn't," she concurred. "I just don't want you to lay the whole blame at Severus' feet. If it weren't for me, Severus wouldn't even remember."

Harry shrugged, palms up, shaking his head. "Snape was spiteful long before he met you. You don't have to apologize for him."

"I'm apologizing for _me_," clarified Aline, getting to her feet and adjusting her sapphire waist-cut robes. It hurt in a strange, unfamiliar way to have such vitriol directed at Severus, whether he deserved it or not. "There's blame to go around, I think. Your mother _did_ make the potion, and I reminded Severus of it. When he gets over his conniption, I hope you two can make peace with each other. Old animosities do no one any good."

"He started it," Harry blurted with a childish pout.

Not doubting for a minute the veracity of that statement, Aline had turned to go, then spun on her heel. "I'm sure your mother was a good person, Harry. Just because she made a mistake doesn't mean your whole image of her is wrong. It…it makes her more _real_ to see both the good and the not so good, don't you think?"

"Well, I-I hadn't thought of it like that," admitted Harry, easing into his chair, his eyes locked on Aline. "In a way I suppose it does. I mean, I'm not perfect and neither is anybody else I know. Thanks for the perspective."

The witch smiled and gave a nod. "I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good night."

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Severus combed his hair back from his face by running his fingers through the silky soft locks that hung in black, glassy sheets around his face. The simple act reminded him once more how grateful he was that Aline had brewed that potion for him—and how grateful he was that Aline loved to run her hands through his mane…that she actually enjoyed being with him as much as he enjoyed spending time with her…that she fancied him as he fancied her. It was an unaccustomed emotion, one he'd not felt for twenty years.

He'd got back later than expected from the Malfoys' home and hurried down the quiet hallways to her quarters. It seemed too presumptuous to floo into her room, yet he wanted to see her before going to bed. He hoped she wasn't already asleep.

Voices emanating through the door stopped Snape in his tracks, hand lifted to knock. There was a man in there! If it was Samson, he'd decapitate the twat and rip his lungs out through his windpipe! With his ear plastered to the wood he leaned in to listen closer. No, not Samson, the accent was American! Probably an old love!

"Are you sure you wouldn't like something to eat, Lonny? More tea?" asked Aline.

"No, thanks. I told you I ate in that town—Hogsmeade, is it? And I'll be up half the night with all the tea you're pouring in me," replied the man dryly. "Come sit with me, stop running around playing hostess."

There was a short pause. "I still can't believe you came all this way to see me for only a few hours," Aline commented. Severus heard a smile in her tone.

"Why wouldn't I? You know how special you are to me," said Lonny.

"You always were so impulsive," laughed Aline. "I've missed you so much."

"I missed you, too. That's why I'm here," said the man.

Severus had heard enough. He couldn't listen to another second of _his_ woman playing sweet with another man, not without charging in and challenging the prick to a duel. His face set in horrified shock, he backed away from the door, whirled about without even trying to billow his cloak, and stomped off down the corridor.


	58. Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

Death Eater No More—Chapter Fifty-Eight (Breaking Up Is Hard To Do)

Aline didn't make it to breakfast the next morning, thanks to having been up half the night with her American visitor, for whom the hour had been merely early evening when he left to return home. She'd looked forward to seeing Severus at lunch, but for some reason he hadn't made an appearance, nor did he come for supper. By that time she'd grown seriously concerned that something was wrong…either that or he had errands to run or meetings to attend or some such thing to keep him occupied. Being an innate worrywart, she naturally selected the first option.

As such, she found herself in his office after her Hufflepuff student in detention for nearly blowing up the lab had finally gone and she had free rein to concentrate on her mounting anxiety. The office was empty. She sighed in annoyance, rapidly descended the steps, and headed for his quarters. If it turned out he was fine, she'd fix _that_ in a hurry!

Severus opened his door to her knock, though he crossed his arms and leaned on the frame rather than invite her in. His utterly blank countenance gave no indication of his emotional state; the only thing Aline noticed was a tired look around his eyes as if he hadn't slept.

"Yes?" he asked in a blatantly impersonal tone.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" she asked.

"No, I don't believe so." His black orbs fairly blistered her skin with enmity.

Hurt and confused by his sudden change of manner, Aline did what she'd learned as a defense mechanism years ago: she lashed out. "What is your problem? We were doing great, now all of a sudden you're acting like a douche bag. If there's some trouble in the castle, I should probably know. If you're mad at somebody else, don't take it out on me!"

Unperturbed, Snape uttered, "I'm not 'mad at somebody else', I'm wondering what I ever saw in you."

Aline's heart froze, along with a good part of her body. "What? Why?"

"As you may have guessed—or may not, perhaps I gave you too much credit—I am not inclined toward threesomes," he drawled.

"What the hell are you babbling about?"

The blank look disappeared in the wink of an eye, to be replaced by a pent up rage shooting from his eyes and pinching his lips tight. In a furious hiss he snapped, "Don't even deny you had a man in your quarters last night!"

"What has my brother got to do with this? And how did you even know he was there?" demanded the witch, raising her own hackles.

Severus' lip quirked up in a quintessential Snape sneer. "Nice try. As I recall, your brother's name is Alonzo; I heard you call the man 'Lonny'." All at once life as he knew it ground to a halt as his brain jerked to a standstill. Alonzo…Lonny. The sneer dropped away as his cheeks tinged pink. He pursed his lips and averted his eyes. "Well, I feel like an arse."

"As well you should," replied Aline, smirking, one hand on her hip. He looked kind of cute when he blushed. Now that the mystery of Severus' absence and strange actions was cleared up, she found it rather funny…except for the whole stalking element. "May I ask why you were eavesdropping on me?"

"It's not as if I'd camped outside your doorstep," Severus retorted. The mention of _doorstep_ reminded him that if anyone happened by, they'd be treated to a most uncomfortable conversation, and as _he_ was the recipient of the embarrassment he'd best act to right the situation. He reached out, latched his hand onto Aline's arm, and drew her inside then shut the door. "I came to see you after returning from the Malfoys. I heard voices, I jumped to conclusions, end of story." _Merlin's beard, I'm becoming a Gryffindork!_

"Your scintillating wit and use of descriptive and explanatory language leaves me breathless," Aline said wryly. "Remind me not to book you as a storyteller at children's parties."

If she wanted breathless, he'd give her breathless. Snape snatched her to his chest and crushed his lips to hers. Automatically Aline's arms wrapped around his shoulders and neck, preventing escape as she returned his passion with equal vigor. The snogfest went on as the couple stumbled to the sofa, where they crashed down beside each other, mouths firmly locked together.

Severus broke free of the delicious embrace to pant, "There are no classes tomorrow. Why don't you stay here tonight."

"Here?" Aline squeaked uneasily, beginning to blush. "With you?"

"No, with a bloody house elf," Snape shot back, shaking his head. Honestly, did it require that much clarification? "We've been seeing each other for some time, would it be terribly uncivil of me to ask you to share my bed?"

Aline squirmed away from him, placing her hands in her lap and staring intently at them, her heart thumping overtime. It was easier than looking at him. "I don't know what to say. 'No, thank you' sounds kind of awful, especially since I like being with you, and I don't want to hurt your feelings."

"Ah. Good job of not emasculating me," Severus replied sarcastically.

"I'm trying to be nice," Aline insisted. Hesitantly she raised her gaze to his to find him studying her dispassionately…and then she saw the question, the doubt in his obsidian orbs. She owed him the truth; whether he could live with it was another ball of wax. "I don't make a practice of sleeping with men in any sense of the word. I'll stay if you promise there won't be any hanky-panky."

"Hanky-panky?" Severus echoed with a laugh. "What are we, eighty?"

"Severus…"

The wizard took one of her hands between his to caress it lightly. Such delicate hands, much more so than his own which, for a man, were fine boned. Beautiful appendages she had, all of them, but as much as he'd love to see the full package he'd have to settle for the consolation prize. Besides, cuddling was nice. "If that's what you want, you needn't worry. I won't molest you, I am in full control of myself."

"Okay," she murmured very quietly, smiling shyly like a teen on her first grown-up date.

It hit him like a ton of bricks flung down from heaven one by one in rapid succession, bouncing off his skull and landing in a discerning pattern at his feet. "Oh. My. God. You're a virgin, aren't you?"

"So?" Aline responded defensively. "What's wrong with that?"

It took several hard blinks, a gape, and a mild stammer to get out his answer. "I—ah—well, nothing. It's just highly unusual for a woman of your age."

Aline scowled mightily at him; the King of Scowls was not impressed, he merely gazed upon her as one fawns over an adorable kitten. "I barely turned thirty-two, not a particularly advanced age! I'm not exactly decrepit!"

"Not at all," Severus smirked, enjoying the way it piqued her. He pulled her back into his embrace and growled in her ear, "I'll be gentle with you."

"No!" she barked in alarm. In an astonishing display of strength, Aline shoved him backward so hard he skidded across the cushions and slammed against the far arm of the sofa.

"Ow!" Snape grunted mainly for her benefit. He leaned forward rubbing his lower back and casting the witch peculiar yet curiously respectful glances. "I was _joking_. What the bloody hell was that?"

"Sorry," Aline choked out. From the look on her face he couldn't tell if she was sincere or not. What was evident was her wariness, her fretfulness as she wrung her hands over and over in her lap. "I…_may_ have neglected to mention the force I draw from people while touching them. No, that's not really accurate. I don't extract the force, I simply turn it back on them. My whole family can do it, it's related somehow to the clairvoyance. I will stop talking now."

Snape inched back across the sofa, exceedingly intrigued. "You are a bundle of surprises."

"Oh, no. No more surprises, that's about all of them. No, positively all of them—I think," Aline jabbered. Damn it all, why did that have to happen now? Men didn't take it well when they found out about this—he'd think she was a freak like all the rest did!

"That's an interesting talent," Severus said, struggling to hold back an incredulous laugh. This raw, physical power she wielded…he'd read obscure texts that cited rare abilities like this, specific to family lineages. It was fascinating. A bit unnerving at first, but absolutely fascinating.

"_Interesting_," she repeated dejectedly. "That's one of the kinder terms I've heard used to describe it."

"Don't people ordinarily take it in stride when they find out?"

"Hardly," she whispered, clenching her jaw and starting to get up. She was startled when he gently pulled her back.

"If I hug you, you're not going to beat me up, are you?" he teased.

Aline smiled with relief. He hadn't rejected her! "No. I could only push you around, anyway. Punching has such a brief window of contact that it's not exceptionally effective in turning your force on you, unless I held onto your hand while punching, which isn't practical and the proximity can be dangerous—you probably don't really want to hear this."

"Perhaps another time," Snape answered. He'd love to hear all about it. "I think it prudent to know what I'm up against."

"Then maybe you should know the whole deal," Aline remarked solemnly. He was taking this so well, and if things continued to go well he'd surely sooner or later again invite her to shag. He may as well find out now. "The clairvoyance in my family comes with a price: our tradition says if we have sexual relations outside of marriage, we lose it permanently. I'm not willing to do that."

Twisting his mouth in a dubious grimace, Severus replied, "Are you sure that isn't a superstition, a deception to keep you in line?"

"It happened to my brother." The statement came out flat, lifeless, the way mourners behave at a funeral. "He used to be as gifted as Abby, he planned to join her in the wandmaking shop. But he was eighteen, horny, and stupid, he didn't believe…" She trailed off shaking her head, brows dipped at the sorrowful memory. "It was a terrible time for all of us. He's still a talented wizard, yet he's never completely gotten over losing his gift. I imagine it's akin to losing your sight—no pun intended."

"I'm sorry to hear of his loss," Severus said quietly. "Don't worry, Aline, I wouldn't do anything to harm you." He held her tightly, his cheek resting on her hair. This witch, a mass of contradictions—powerful yet vulnerable, intelligent yet naïve, immeasurably kind hearted yet capable of dealing out a vicious barb to protect herself. He liked that combination. A lot.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Hermione, are you alright?" Molly Weasley lowered into the sink the stack of dishes she's been levitating with her wand. A flick of the wand set them to washing themselves, and she came over to the window where Hermione was watching the majority of the Weasleys and Harry playing a makeshift game of Quidditch: Harry, Ron, and Bill versus Charlie, George, and Ginny.

The young witch turned around, forcing a smile onto her face. "I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley. They're sure having a lot of fun."

"Oh, you know those boys—and Ginny," sighed Molly. "Get them on a broomstick and they're like children."

"Yes, I know," concurred the other. _Some people don't need to be on broomsticks to act childish._ "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"No, not a thing, dearie. Supper dishes are cleaning, table's cleared, floor is swept. Why don't you go outside, get some fresh air and watch."

"Alright, if you're sure." Hermione paused at the door, hoping the woman would change her mind.

When Molly shooed her out, she walked around the side of the house for a more advantageous view. The sight of the family shouting, taunting, and laughing was so familiar to her, unlike the guilty twang gnawing in her belly. For weeks she'd been agitated in ways she couldn't fully explain, she'd carried a burden of jumbled thoughts that refused to leave her alone, that haunted her at the oddest moments. The night Viktor took her for a ride on his broom had been one of the singularly most thrilling times of her life; she'd thought at first it was because of the danger of flight, the freedom she'd felt. She couldn't explain the allure of it, unless she was being totally honest with herself, which she was trying very hard not to do.

The longer she watched Ron playing with his siblings, the stronger and more defined her disquiet became. Viktor had practically begged her to fly with him; Ron scoffed at her pitiful attempts at solo flight and abandoned her so he could have fun playing. She shook her head violently. She shouldn't be comparing the two men, why was she comparing them? She'd come here to give Ron another chance—to give their relationship another chance!

Her eyes strayed up into the sky at the soaring figures starting to become obscured by the impending dusk. In her mind she chanted, "_I love Ron, I love Ron."_ In her heart she cried, "_I love Ron….as a dear, wonderful friend who has shared a good part of my life."_ And in her heart she acknowledged that it would never be enough for either of them.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Bayly presented himself in the Headmaster's office wearing a slightly outdated suit of midnight blue dress robes. Before tonight he'd had no cause to need new ones, nor money to purchase them, so these old robes would have to do even if the legs looked like he was prepared for a flood and the sleeves were rolled up to hide how insufficiently they covered him.

Professor Snape, who'd been waiting for him, grimaced at the sight. He drawled, "I'm sorry, Mr. Young, this won't do."

"But it's all I have!" wailed the lad. He'd wanted to look his best, to make a dashing first impression on the Livingstons, and instead he looked like a pitiful clown! Why had he grown so much since the last time he'd worn them?

Without a word Severus waved his wand the length of the boy's body. The robes elongated and—just as importantly—changed form to resemble the butter soft designer robes worn by the Malfoys. Bayly ran his palm hesitantly over the fine fabric, caressing the material as if afraid it would melt away.

"Thank you, sir," he whispered.

"I know what it feels like to be inappropriately dressed," admitted the man. His current expensive Italian robes belied that claim. "Mr. Malfoy's father did the same for me when I was your age. Are we set?"

"I guess we're ready." Bayly moved stiffly over to the fireplace from where he was to floo into Malfoy Manor. He was grateful not to be going alone, it was very thoughtful of the professor to come with him.

"First, some advice. You need to exude confidence, get rid of the deer in the headlights expression," said Snape.

The young man cocked his head and blinked a few times. What in the world were 'headlights', and how did a deer get inside them? "What does that mean?"

_Ah, yes, a pureblood to the core_, mused Severus. Naturally he was not familiar with such Muggle phrases. "Calm down, pretend not to be nervous. The Malfoys will do their best to convince the Livingstons that you are an exemplary match for Gloria."

In a desperate tone the boy asked, "What if they can't?"

"I trust them implicitly, and I'm asking you to do the same. Unless they had a strategy, they would not have organized this get together," said Snape simply. He hadn't been privy to the Malfoy plans, but if he knew Lucius and Narcissa—and he did—they would not mess up this opportunity to get their way by hook or by crook. As far as he was concerned, this was Bayly's best chance to get what he was after, all he had to do was follow along.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Snape and Bayly had just finished using their wands to de-soot themselves from the floo when the Livingstons arrived only moments later. Cinchona showed them into the main sitting room where the Malfoys were nowhere in sight. Gloria started to move toward Bayly but her father's fist around hers prevented her.

"Hi, Gloria. You look beautiful," said the young man appreciatively. In the back of his mind he wondered if this dress was the same one she'd worn to meet all those other pukes trying to ensnare her. Even if it was, she did look stunning.

"You look very handsome yourself," Gloria replied. Where had he got the money for such expensive robes? They did flatter him, though. "Mum and Dad, this is Bayly Young. Bayly, these are my parents."

Clicking his heels together and bowing slightly out of long-ingrained habit, Bayly extended a hand to Dr. Livingston, then planted a brief kiss on Mrs. Livingston's limp appendage. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Gloria tells me you attended Durmstrang, did you not?" inquired the doctor, eyebrows raised in question without actually expecting an answer. "You know what they say about Durmstrang."

The fact that it was an overt attempt to be insulting had no outward effect on Bayly. Snape had warned him that Gloria's parents might behave in a hostile manner and not to respond in kind. Still, it stung. "No, sir, I don't believe I've heard what they say," he said calmly.

"And now would not be the time for spreading baseless rumors," crooned Severus, steering Bayly away from the couple.

They were all saved from whatever calamity might have ensued from another nasty remark by the Malfoys' grand entrance. Garbed in stylish charcoal grey robes, Narcissa on his arm clad in a sleek blue full length gown, Lucius burst on the scene with, "My apologies to our guests. The baby is fussing and wouldn't cooperate with our timetable. I presume you've all met one another."

"Ladon isn't ill, is he?" asked Dr. Livingston. "Would you like me to look at him?"

Narcissa flashed a winning smile. "No, I'm sure he's fine. Draco is minding him. Why don't we all sit down and chat a bit before dinner?"

Severus noted that the sitting room had been rearranged since the last time he was here. Two plush sofas faced each other, separated by an antique coffee table and flanked by armchairs. He slipped into the chair furthest from the fireplace and sat back to observe the fireworks. Dr. Livingston and his wife led Gloria between them and sank down on one sofa; as Lucius and Narcissa made their way to the other sofa, Narcissa surreptitiously snagged Bayly's arm to lead him along, plopping him at the end of the couch beside her, where she hugged his arm affectionately. On cue Cinchona popped in with a tray of assorted beverages to offer the humans.

"Hugh and Ava, we are so happy to hear the news," Narcissa gushed at the bemused couple. "Congratulations, Gloria! Bayly told us he proposed to you. Oh, we're so excited, aren't we, Lucius?"

Ignoring the expressions of utter horror and the firewhiskey coughed up on his Persian rug by the doctor, Lucius reached behind his wife to clap Bayly warmly on the back. "Yes, they make a lovely pair. I couldn't have chosen better for the young man myself. And Gloria is getting a fair deal, I warrant, since I've extended my patronage over the boy, giving him the means to pursue whatever occupation he desires."

"Of course, we are adamant about hosting the reception here in our ballroom. There is none in Britain to rival it, and this will be the event of the season," Narcissa chattered gaily on, not giving a sliver of opportunity to interrupt. "All the prominent families will be in attendance, including our war heroes like Severus here. Why, Bayly is like a son to him. Others like Harry Potter surely wouldn't miss out on the wedding of a star pupil."

_Son_? Bayly glanced momentarily at the Headmaster. Had he said that? No, best not to get too attached to that image, it was surely made up like everything else she was saying. _Proposal? Patronage? Star pupil?_ The deer in the headlights look was returning. Professor Snape told him to trust the Malfoys…well, he trusted Snape. therefore his only course of action was to play along.

"Gloria, I hope you don't mind that I've agreed to the offer of a reception here at the mansion," he said in a chipper voice.

Dr. Livingston found his voice to thunder, "Gloria, did that boy propose to you?"

She shot a peek at Bayly, who smiled and gave a tiny nod. "Yes, Daddy, he did. And I accepted."

"Why didn't you tell us?" wailed her mother. "How could you, Gloria?"

Narcissa made a waving motion like brushing away flies. "Ava, don't fret. Surely she wanted to tell you when she and her beloved were together. I'm sorry to spoil the surprise." She affected a rueful frown that to Lucius looked deceptively cheery. "You simply _must_ help me plan the details, you know Gloria's tastes. We've got ballroom decorations to think of, bridal dresses, the date—oh, we'll be swamped!" She seemed to positively glow.

"This—this is all happening too fast," objected Dr. Livingston.

"It is overwhelming," Lucius commiserated, motioning for the elf to refill the doctor's glass. "That's why we men leave the details to the women."

"We've just met the boy!" The wizard gulped down his drink in one swig. It seemed wise not to mention Death Eater backgrounds in present company, yet he had nothing else to hold against the kid. "We know almost nothing about him. And Gloria may want to reconsider." He squeezed the girl's hand until she cried out and jerked it away.

"I won't reconsider!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet and stomping around the coffee table to stand beside Bayly. To her delight, he pulled her down onto his lap, which only afterward she thought might not go over well with the folks. "He's the kindest, gentlest man I've ever dated. He treats me with respect, he's funny and smart and brave. I love him."

"And I love your daughter with all my heart," Bayly added. "I'll take care of her and protect her, I'll be the best husband and father I can be, I swear to you."

Ava gave a shrill croak in the back of her throat. "Father? Gloria, are you pregnant?"

"No!" Gloria and Bayly cried in unison, faces alight with dismay.

"Bayly is not the kind of young man to take advantage of a girl," Lucius drawled smoothly, motioning again to the elf for a round of drinks. "He's a gentleman, I'd not sponsor a lothario."

Dr. Livingston found himself tapping his wife's thigh repeatedly in desperation. He felt ill. "Excuse us, won't you? Ava and I need to talk." Managing to get to his feet on numbed legs, he helped his wife up and they stumped woodenly across the room and cast a silencing charm around themselves.

"Ava, do you see what they're doing? They're cornering us, trying to get us to agree to this wedding!" the man bellowed helplessly.

"Of course they want us to agree, they obviously adore the boy," Ava retorted. "They probably put him up to asking Gloria for her hand, knowing full well our objection to it."

"I can't very well storm out dragging our daughter screaming behind me," said Dr. Livingston. "Can you imagine how much damage Malfoy gossip could do to my reputation? I'd lose patients as well as the good will of some community members. Despite everything that's happened, the Malfoys still wield enormous influence."

"Hugh, calm down," Ava murmured. She caught a glimpse of Gloria and Bayly lost in each other's eyes and for a second she felt like a young bride herself. "If we oppose this marriage now on the basis of his parentage, we'll be considered pureblood snobs bowing to the ideology the wizarding world is trying to bury. _We'll_ be the monsters instead of that filthy Dolohov. Though I have to admit that Bayly seems to be a respectful, intelligent young man."

"Not to mention we're caught between a rock and a hard place. No other young wizard will dare agree to wed Gloria now with the prospect of Malfoy malevolence or retribution hanging over his head," lamented Hugh.

"Look on the bright side, dear—the only reason you and I object to Bayly is his father. If war heroes like Snape and Potter think highly of Young and endorse him, other folks who might be debating whether Gloria made a wise choice may be persuaded that Bayly is respectable in spite of his father." Ava paused, thunderstruck as her own words permeated her brain. Gloria swore that her beau was nothing like Dolohov—and the man had tried to kill him, which did point to the fact that he refused to go along with Dolohov's madness. Was it possible Gloria had chosen well? All things considered, the signs were pointing that way.

"It isn't as if Gloria gave us any option," said the doctor glumly. "She gets that hardheadedness from your side of the family."

Ava glared at him. "Don't go there, Hugh."

Reading the warning signs accurately, Hugh backed down and smiled at the witch. "We'd better go talk this whole thing out. If we can't prevent Gloria from marrying Young, we can at least insist on having our voices heard. And I won't have people saying the Malfoys paid for my daughter's wedding! The ballroom is one thing, but I have my pride…"


	59. Real

Death Eater No More—Chapter Fifty-Nine (Real)

In the aftermath of the Livingston/Young/Malfoy pseudo-confrontation, Gloria and Bayly stood facing one another next to the fireplace, hands tightly clasped, gazing into each other's eyes. Their bodies brushed together, igniting the heat of their desire. They'd won the battle with scarcely a metaphysical blow thrown, courtesy of Malfoy cunning, and now they basked in the victory. Tomorrow they'd return to classes as if nothing had happened to alter the world as they knew it, yet everything had changed in the space of mere moments.

"I really should go, Bayly. I told my parents I'd come right home." Gloria plucked at the skirt of her ivory colored gown. "I can't go back to Hogwarts looking like this."

"Wait." Bayly sank onto one knee, grinning. "I owe you a proper proposal, and lucky for me you can't say 'no'. Gloria, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife and enriching my humble life with your enchanting presence forever after?"

"Oh," cooed Gloria, stroking his cheek. "Of course I will. You're the only man in the world who's made me feel special, desirable, and goofy all at once."

Bayly laughed as he rose to his feet, leaned in, and kissed her on the lips. "I'll get you a ring soon. We can go looking in Hogsmeade this weekend coming if you want."

The girl nodded, kissed him again, and stepped into the fireplace with a pinch of floo powder. "See you soon. I love you."

Before Bayly could return the sentiment, she'd gone. He continued to gaze after her for some time, then turned away from the floo, nearly colliding with Lucius; he backed up in embarrassment. "Oh! Sorry, sir."

"Quite alright," said Lucius, eyeing the lad's clothing up and down. The spell had worn off, revealing the robes for the misfits they were. A lone blond brow raised in surprise: it was by no means easy to create realistic fine garments, else everyone would use the charm. How did a boy of this age know such a complex transfiguration spell? Surely a simple glamour charm would not have endured these four hours.

Noticing the way Malfoy was scrutinizing his too-small robes, Bayly flushed to the roots of his own blond hair. "Professor Snape transfigured them for me. I—I didn't have anything suitable," he murmured.

"It's not a cause for alarm," Lucius replied, holding back a smile. "It's my pleasure to provide you with garments befitting my ward. I can't have the boy I sponsor looking like a beggar, can I?"

"I thought…" Bayly began. _Buck up_, he ordered himself. He cleared his throat and began again. "I thought you only said that for the Livingstons' benefit. I don't expect you to…"

"To live up to my promise?" prompted Lucius, making the boy blush again. "I meant what I said. I helped save your life, Bayly; now I expect you to make something of it, and I'm prepared to help you do that."

"What is it, exactly, you require me to become?" asked the youth hesitantly.

Lucius tilted his head, looking up at the ceiling and pursing his lips in thought. All at once his countenance brightened and he beamed at Bayly. "I was hoping for something exotic like a werewolf hunter—or a _vampire_. Wouldn't that be bloody wicked?"

Bayly's jaw dropped. He gaped at the older man, too horrified to do more than shake his head and grunt incoherently.

"Blimey, Lucius, you're scaring the boy!" growled Mateo, who'd strolled in at the other end of the room where Lucius had a clear view of his entrance. He rolled his eyes and gave his nephew a not-so-gentle shove that made him teeter. "That's my job."

Mateo broke into a laugh, accompanied by Lucius, who clapped the hyperventilating Bayly on the back. "Sorry about that, I couldn't resist. Malfoys aren't always the stodgy prigs we're painted as." Noting the way the lad began to back away from Mateo, he said, "Ah, I see you're acquainted with my vampire uncle. He's not here to bite you, I assure you."

As much as he'd enjoy giving the kid a good fright, Mateo ignored the desire to bare his teeth and instead spoke to his nephew. "Lucius, Tonia and I are heading to town. Is there anything you need before we go?" Mateo inquired.

For the past few weeks he and the other _sangristas_ had instituted a rotating system whereby four members of the cult were permitted to go out for entertainment per night, leaving eight to stand guard. This move had been a huge boost for morale, which had waned as the _sangristas_ grew bored and restless.

"No, I believe you've got everything under control." His fist snatched hold of Bayly and dragged him closer. "Where did you meet Mateo?"

"At school. Professor Snape brought him and his wife," Bayly uttered. Now that his heart had stopped trying to escape through his throat, it was kind of brilliant to be standing here talking to a real live vampire…or a dead one, as the case may be. "It's nice to see you again, sir. I doubt you remember me."

"Sorry, can't recall the meeting," Mateo shrugged. "There were a lot of kids there."

Gesturing at the lad as if there were anyone else about, Lucius announced, "Mateo, this is Bayly, the boy we've been discussing—my new ward."

"My pleasure," Mateo smiled, extending a hand. It always gave him a jolt of a thrill to watch the expression on people's faces when they shook his icy hand for the first time. He was not disappointed; Bayly recoiled slightly, looking abashed. "No worries, mate, my nephew here has a warped sense of humor, but he's a good man. He'll do right by you. I'm off, then." He turned and glided out the way he'd come.

"Seriously, Bayly, I am interested in what you'd like to pursue after school," Lucius intoned as if they'd never had the Mateo encounter. "Doctor, lawyer, Ministry official." He wrinkled his nose at the last. His last run-ins with the Ministry had been less than jovial.

Bayly smiled nervously. His choice wasn't nearly as prestigious as those offered, despite being eminently useful. "To be honest, Mr. Malfoy, I've been giving a lot of thought to becoming a Potions master like Professor Snape. I'd be able to gain employment in any medical facility or school or Potions shop."

Lucius shrugged. Not what he'd anticipated, but if it was good enough for his best friend, it was good enough for the boy. "Let me know where you'd like to study and I'll arrange it."

Bayly chewed his lip. It was so kind of Mr. Malfoy to offer his support, he didn't want to offend him, really he didn't. "Sir, it's just that Professor Snape is the best. If he'll let me, I want to learn from him."

"I can't fault you for that," admitted Lucius. Even the dark lord had acknowledged Snape's unusually high level of skill, and he wasn't one for dishing out compliments. "I insist on paying for any supplies and living expenses while you train. You'll be married and living on your own, not in a good position to support a wife."

Bayly shook his head vehemently. "I don't want to take advantage."

"Severus!" Lucius called out in frustration to the man chatting with his wife across the room. "Would you kindly explain to this boy that as his patron I'm allowed to provide him with things he needs!"

"Listen to Mr. Malfoy! Don't make me come over there," Severus barked gruffly, then he turned back to Narcissa. Bayly was a smart fellow, he didn't need to be browbeaten to get the message. "As I was saying, I'd be grateful to you if you could give me a refresher course in dance before Bayly's wedding."

"Of course," Narcissa responded as she studied him with a smirk. "You want to make a good impression on Aline. Perfectly understandable, though we may want to inform Lucius so he doesn't burst into a jealous rage again. Though that was loads of fun, as I recall."

"Fun for you," retorted Severus, twisting his mouth at the memory of a wand jabbed in his face and his best friend threatening to do ghastly things to him.

_Loads of fun indeed, especially after you left,_ Narcissa tittered to herself. Knowing the Malfoy clan, she could confidently assert that before that day the ballroom had not seen the kind of action she and Lucius cooked up on the bare floor. Come to think of it, Lucius was in a grand mood, he just might be up for a repeat performance.

"Narcissa, are you alright?" Severus had his arms out, ready to catch her if she fell. She had a glazed look about her.

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry. I think I'm getting tired. Lucius, dear, may I speak with you?"

A few hurried whispers later, the Malfoys were saying their goodnights and scurrying off rather quickly for how 'tired' Narcissa was. Severus ambled over to Bayly. Without need of words they stepped into the fireplace and were soon walking out into Snape's office.

Heart thumping painfully against his ribcage, Bayly loitered nervously. He ought to go back to his room, every fiber of his being told him to leave well enough alone, but he couldn't, he needed to know. So much had happened tonight his mind was still whirling from it, yet there was one unresolved issue.

"Professor, what Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy were saying about the proposal, the patronage, and all—at the time I thought it was all made up." He paused, staring at his feet and wondering what kind of masochist he was. If he had an ounce of sense he'd shut his trap and leave. Evidently he was senseless, for he uttered, "Um, could I ask—no, never mind, I don't want to bother you."

"Ask," said Snape simply.

"That bit about me being like your son. Was that—how exaggerated was it?" He found himself chewing his lip again. Why did he ask? Only bad could come of this!

"Did you hear me deny it?"

Bayly's head wagged back and forth.

"Then you have your answer."

The Earth stopped spinning for a hundredth of a second. _You have your answer_—it was true, then! He'd not dared trust it. With tears threatening to spill from his eyes, Bayly raised his head to peer at Snape. His voice sounded raspy as if struggling to fight down a lump. "This is the best day of my life. I get to marry Gloria, Mr. Malfoy insists on helping us out, and now you…you've been so good to me all along, I have no words to express how grateful I am. You're like—like a _real_ dad."

"Let's not get maudlin," Snape commented dryly. "If you must know, you're the first student I've had, Draco excepted, that I've not felt at least a passing desire to throttle, mutilate, or fling from a tower. I suppose I owe this to being at first flustered, then fascinated by the rarity of your behavior. You do your work in a timely manner, brew potions competently, demonstrate respect." His eyes held a faraway, serene look that he crushed with a blink and a shake of his head. "Believe me, I was as appalled as you to find I'd developed an attachment."

"I wasn't appalled," Bayly objected softly. "Everyone thinks you're a monster or something, but I never did."

"Once again proving you differ from the rank and file dunderheads I've been forced to shovel knowledge at in the vain hope some of it will latch onto their pea-brains," Severus pronounced. He crossed his arms and nodded in agreement with himself. An amused smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, though a hint of menace in his eyes proclaimed his sincerity as he added, "Be apprised that if you divulge to the general population a word of our mutual…_non-loathing_ of one another, you may find yourself flayed within an inch of your life."

Impervious to the warnings that might send other pupils into a panic, Bayly smiled back at him, shyly accepting the compliment the teacher seemed unable to state plainly. 'Mutual non-loathing' was a fancy, emotion-phobic way of saying he liked Bayly; he could live with that. "Duly noted, sir. Your badass reputation is safe."

At this Severus broke into a genuine chuckle that he tried to hide behind a pitiful cough. "Goodnight, Bayly."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"I have a great idea." Marshal sauntered out from the kitchenette of his flat into the living room. He wore a smug smile plastered on his undeniably handsome face. "The Ministry is still searching for us, but we can fix that."

"How so?" asked Rabastan/Jorab, not bothering to look up from his game of solitaire. Red queen on black king.

"Do what Rodolphus did to your uncle, Polyjuice somebody and kill them," Marshal said blithely, oblivious to the anguish in Rabastan's face and the murderous fury in Rodolphus'. "Our hair in the potion will make them look like the _real_ us, and the Ministry will think we're dead like they believe Nott is."

"Macnair," growled Rodolphus, lips pinched to a white line. Since his surgery he resembled his brother more closely than before; although his stature was stockier, his nose had been pared down and gently rounded at the tip to appear identical to Rabastan's, his cheekbones had been made more prominent and the skin above his eyes lifted like his brother. He'd even cut his hair like the other man and grown a thin mustache.

"_Marshal_, dammit! Why can't you remember that?" bawled Marshal. "I remember you're Wendolph and he's Jorab, why can't you get it?"

"I don't think we ought to be talking like this," Rodolphus/Wendolph answered in a warning tone that bounced right off Marshal's hard skull.

"Why? It's not like we've never killed anybody before," scoffed Marshal.

Rodolphus/Wendolph was gearing up for a tirade on the stupidity of their host when Rabastan/Jorab lifted his face from his game. "He's got a point, Dolph. Until the Ministry thinks we're dead, they'll hunt us, we'll always be glancing over our shoulders."

That stopped his brother in his mental tracks. Rabby agreeing with Macnair—or rather, _Marshal_? "I thought you wanted us to go straight, become respectable. Sorry, little brother, but last time I checked murder didn't quite fit that category."

"No," drawled Rabby thoughtfully. "But we won't _murder_, not really. If we do away with the dregs of society who are not innocent by any stretch of the imagination, it's not technically murder—it's execution, it's justice."

"Yeah, we'd be doing the world a favor," piped up Marshal.

Rodolphus/Wendolph resisted a strong temptation to smack Marshal upside the head on general principles. "How altruistic of you. That means selfless and kind," he explained in a patronizing tone.

"I know what it means," snapped Marshal.

"Stop bickering," Rabby ordered. Already the plan had solidified in his mind. "We can troll the seedy parts of London, find brutal Muggle criminals—that shouldn't be hard. We stun them, take them to a wizard area, force them to drink the potion, and…well, you know."

"I don't think we should dump them all in one place," Marshal interjected. "Aurors might expect to find you two together, but chances are it would seem more realistic if we're apart, as if we hadn't been able to fight off our attackers, right?"

"So we do all three in one night?" asked Rodolphus.

Despite his misgivings about following a plan proposed by Macnair, it appeared to be the best course of action, it gave no opportunity for aurors to go on high alert. He didn't object to the plan, per se, it made perfect sense…he couldn't put his finger on what bothered him. Except perhaps that if the three ex-Death Eaters were honest with themselves, they would acknowledge their own status as dregs of humanity according to a sizeable chunk of the wizarding world. That was it! He felt like a hypocrite! Ah well, what did he care what they thought, as long as they left him and Rabby alone? Three fewer scum Muggles made no difference to him.

"Yeah, we'll do them all at once," Rabastan/Jorab answered soberly, his attention focused back on his game. Black seven on red eight. Flip card. Ace above. Flip card. "Get it over with and be done." _Then no more killing, no more hiding. Forget the past, become new men, decent citizens._ He wondered what that would feel like, being decent.

Rodolphus studied his brother with a sinking feeling in his chest. The chosen method of execution using Polyjuice left a bitter taste in his own mouth; how must Rabby feel about it? He pretended it didn't matter, but Dolph knew better. A flat-out duel or simple _avada kedavra_ would suit him just fine for sure, he'd been responsible for numerous deaths like that. "Rabby, if you'd rather find another way, we will."

Rabby paused, card in hand. "This is the only way we'll be really free forever, Dolph. It's not like we're slaughtering blameless folk, they'll be pariahs of society. Like Marshal said, we'll be doing the world a favor, ridding it of filth. That's admirable, isn't it?"

"In my mind it is," his brother concurred, shrugging. It seemed to him that Rabby was a bit too hasty to justify their actions. Did he even believe what he was saying? "I'm not so sure what's going on in your head."

"Nothing," responded Rabastan tightly, then to Marshal poised for a snarky remark he added a pointed, "Shut it, wanker, I'm not in the mood."

"I didn't even say anything!" protested Marshal with a pout. "And stop calling me that!" He flung himself onto the sofa next to the man. _F—king little tosser_, he snarled inwardly. He'd have said it outright if he relished another nasty argument; frankly he was tired of them. Living with people certainly put a strain on friendships, didn't it? It would be pure heaven when these two moved out! "Wendolph, how soon can you start brewing that Polyjuice potion?"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

For a Muggle, putting the finishing touches on a portrait would be a gratifying accomplishment; for a wizard it would be the same—if said portrait hadn't already been animated and begun harping critically over ever brush stroke.

"That's golden, the meadow grass was more flaxen," carped the portrait, eyeing a tiny spot in the corner of his frame. "And the cupola wasn't quite so pointy."

William Peak sighed and looked at his apprentice with weary, aged eyes. "This is precisely why you never activate the portrait until every blasted detail is complete to the specifications of the purchaser. I had a feeling I wasn't quite done, I should have taken it to the family for inspection before vitalizing it."

"What if the family approves, then you bring it to life and the subject of the portrait isn't content?" asked Jacinta, who sat beside the old man as he worked, observing him carefully.

"I can hear you, young lady, I'm right here!" snapped the man in the picture. "And I am not an _it_ or a _subject_, I am a _real_ _person_. You'd do well to remember that."

"You're dead, you're not real," Jacinta retorted.

"Don't try to argue with a portrait, Jacinta, you can't win," advised Peak, patting the girl on the shoulder. "As for your question, the family is paying you, therefore you do as they request. The only rule you must never break is this: portraits must look exactly like the live person. Anything else in the picture is subjective."

"Subjective my arse!" howled the portrait.

The artist glanced up at the clock wall; he hadn't realized how late it was. They'd closed shop over two hours ago, every shop in Diagon Alley was likely closed by now. Huddled in the stuffy, windowless back room of "Peak's Portraits", door closed to ward off the draft, time flew by.

"Jacinta, if you want to leave, I un—" He halted mid-sentence at the sound of shuffling and a tiny thump on the roof. Both of them automatically looked up at the ceiling in alarm. Peak got up slowly, motioning for the girl to stay put. "Stay here, I'll go outside and see what's up there. Probably a cat."

"I don't think it's a cat, Mr. Peak." Jacinta got up, drawing her wand from a narrow pocket on the upper part of her sleeve.

"Stay here!" hissed the wizard more forcefully.

His own wand had somehow appeared between his fingers. A gentle flick put out the light; he crept quietly to the door and opened it slowly, then ventured into the front room. He'd barely got out the word _lumos_ when the room became bathed in light and Peak let out a strangled scream as a goblin landed on his back from a gaping hole overhead, knocking the wizard to the floor.

Hearing the cry, Jacinta sprinted in from the back. An _impedimenta_ sent the goblin flying to crash into a wall. She whirled around frantically, not knowing where the creature had come from or if there were more. A scratching noise overhead alerted her to a goblin scrambling back up through the hole. She sent a stunning hex that missed his foot by bare centimeters, and he was gone.

Cautiously, wand still aloft, she backed up to Peak and knelt down next to him. "Are you alright, Mr. Peak?"

"It—it tried to choke me," he croaked. With her help he got unsteadily to his feet. He zipped a spell at the goblin on the floor, magically binding him in place.

At the same moment, Jacinta cast her patronus as Severus had shown her; a life sized cougar let out a yawning shriek and padded up to her to wait for instructions. "Go to the Ministry and tell them there's been a goblin attack here," she panted, her voice almost failing her. The cougar bounded out.

"Thank you, Jacinta, you may have saved my life," said Peak matter-of-factly.

The girl tinted pink and averted her gaze. "I just did what anyone would."

"So, you can produce a patronus," said Peak, mildly surprised. "Most kids nowadays haven't the patience or fortitude to learn."

"Most kids don't have Severus Snape teaching them," grinned Jacinta.

The rush of adrenalin causing her trembling limbs had calmed down; she felt considerably more stable. Speaking of her papa, he was going to pitch a fit of enormous proportions when he found out she'd nearly been attacked by goblins. She hoped he didn't try to make her quit her job, she liked Mr. Peak and she liked working here. Mama would talk sense to him…but what about Daddy? She groaned and slumped to the floor to wait for the aurors.

(A/N: Throughout the course of the story I've received lovely reviews from many readers, and I thank you all. It really does give me incentive to continue writing. For those who are not signed in as members, I regret that I can't properly respond to you, this forum is too impersonal for me and I hesitate to use it often for private messages. That said, minski2013: if possible, message me, I'd like to discuss Bella.)


	60. Getting Close

Death Eater No More—Chapter Sixty (Getting Close)

"Lucius! Lucius!" Narcissa barreled into the manor screaming at the top of her lungs, to wake the dead if possible, her visage twisted and darkened by terror.

Had Lucius not already been on the stairway headed out, he might not have heard her; as it stood, he bolted down the rest of the steps and through the hallway to his wife, wand drawn, heart thumping in his throat. His left arm encircled her protectively while he scanned the area for danger. "Narcissa, what is it? What's wrong?"

"There's a dragon in the orchard!" shrilled the witch, legs trembling, her arms wrapped around him.

Pause. Blink. "What?"

"You heard me, a _dragon_! I went for a stroll as I often do; I saw a shadow overhead and looked up as it flew right past me." Narcissa burrowed up tight to the wizard like a child cuddling against her father.

A dragon. Unless Lucius relished the idea of provoking his wife to acts of brutality against him, he wouldn't be suggesting anytime soon that she was perhaps imagining the whole thing. Nor was she generally given to flights of fancy, though who knew what effects pregnancy hormones may be playing here. Again, not a thought to be vocalized within hearing range of his beloved.

Lucius patted her back comfortingly. "There's no need to get hysterical, dear."

"I am not hysterical!"

"Actually you are, a little," cooed Lucius, smiling down at her. He regretted his comment seconds later when her pointy shoe made forcible contact with his shin. For crying out loud, when had she taken to wearing steel toed footwear? "Ow! Alright, I'll go have a look." _Probably find an overgrown sparrow_, he grumped to himself.

"No, it's too dangerous," advised Narcissa, clinging to his arm. "We can summon dragon tamers or something."

"I'll be fine, I promise. I've faced worse," he assured her calmly.

There was no denying that not much could top facing Lord Voldemort on a daily basis, certainly not a dumb beast. The dark lord had tortured enemies and followers alike, had even murdered his own people from pure spite or repulsive joy. At least if this purported dragon tried to eat him, he'd have a chance at survival. Giving Narcissa the benefit of the doubt and presuming she had indeed seen a dragon, there was little to fear. It had not spit fire or pursued her or attacked her, so it likely wasn't hungry. As long as he didn't get too close and it felt secure, it would feel no need to address Lucius as a threat.

With Narcissa at his heels he walked out onto the porch; a moment later he apparated to a spot near the orchard where he could observe yet still be free to flee if necessary. His first inclination was to search the sky, which yielded nothing larger than a hummingbird hovering at a lilac bush.

Then he directed his attention to the apple grove and he almost swallowed his tongue. There, perched on a thick branch, bending the poor little tree nearly double to the ground from sheer weight, sat an enormous, plump blue dragon.

Lucius stared in wonder, his feet bringing him closer without actively willing it. "Xerxes?" he called out.

The dragon lifted its head, sniffed the air, and gurgled joyfully in the back of its throat. With a thump that shook the ground, it hopped off the tree, which slowly sprang partway back up to remain absurdly stooped and cracked. Xerxes waddled over on his stumpy legs to join the wizard, whom he poked in the chest with his snout while purring loudly.

Lucius stroked the scaly muzzle, his bewilderment mingled with affection. How was this possible? The odds of such a coincidence as the two meeting here was…well, he couldn't rightly calculate the odds, but he knew they had to nudge way up in the astronomical range. "How did you find me?" he whispered as if to himself.

Predictably, the creature offered no explanation, it merely basked in the attention of its favorite human. Xerxes knew him and Narcissa by sight, sound, and smell from their visits to the vault, Lucius mused while absently petting the animal to the point of laying his cheek on Xerxes' head. Could it be that simple, a chance encounter? The dragon had been flying overhead when he smelled Narcissa walking close by?

"We can't keep him."

Lucius jerked around in surprise to see Narcissa, whose curiosity had finally gotten the better of her. "It's Xerxes, honey," he grinned excitedly. He felt suddenly like a little boy asking Mummy's permission to house a stray dog.

"It's against the law to own a dragon," she continued, slowly edging over toward him, keeping a wary eye on the beast. The dragon sniffed her again and rammed her gently with his nose. Hesitantly she reached out to pet his ear.

"He showed up on his own, we're not technically 'keeping' him."

"If we feed him, we are," Narcissa answered. She hated to be the bad guy, yet they could not afford this kind of publicity—especially as it might lead people to wonder how a Gringotts dragon ended up on Malfoy property. What with Lucius being the one who'd set the dragons free to begin with, this was not a favorable situation. "And if we don't feed him, he'll hunt, which might mean eating humans."

"I know," Lucius acknowledged sadly, shoulders slumping. It wasn't feasible or wise to let the dragon stay, they'd have to contact a handler to come get him, take him to a colony where he'd have friends and a mate. It would be a happy life for Xerxes…so why did it feel so dismally depressing?

A bloodcurdling shriek from high above shattered his thoughts. Diving toward them at breakneck speed was a beautiful red dragon with flecks of green tinting her scales; if she'd not been in full attack mode, flames snorting from her nostrils, she might have made a more splendid, enjoyable picture. Lucius instinctively threw himself over the petrified Narcissa and thrust his wand upward. His stunning spell had absolutely no effect on the creature and soon it would be within range to burn them if he didn't apparate them out of there.

Another piercing cry split the air, this time from Xerxes. He raised his head to the charging dragon and bellowed once more, sending the red beast doubling back to soar into the air where she circled as if waiting. Looking oddly smug, Xerxes gurgled at Lucius then leaped into the air, following the other animal. They met high over the wood and playfully nuzzled each other before gliding off into the distance.

"Sweetheart, are you alright?" Lucius asked, tearing his eyes from the sky.

"I'm fine. A bit deaf, but otherwise fine," said Narcissa. She glanced from her husband to the diminishing dots in the air. "Looks like your dragon's got himself a girlfriend," she smiled.

"Looks like," concurred the wizard, smiling along with her. He couldn't have asked for a more fitting outcome for his secret pet. Maybe one day Xerxes would even come back for another visit…with babies….

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Something felt wrong. Snuggled up on the sofa in Snape's quarters, leaning her ear on Severus' chest, Aline sensed a strange tension in the air. "Severus, did something happen? You're very quiet."

"The precise thing my students pray for on a daily basis bothers you," returned the man dryly. "I've just returned from the Mulcibers' home. Jacinta is sulking at me."

"Why?"

"Because I opposed her working at a shop that was attacked by goblins. She doesn't need the money, Jack makes a good living and she can come to me if she ever needs anything. We had a huge row complete with shouting, recriminations, and tears. For some reason she takes it personally." Severus shrugged and sighed. What did Jacinta expect? And it wasn't like he'd been alone in his opposition, Jack had been every bit as vehement in stating his concern for the girl. "Am I wrong?"

"Well," Aline began slowly, hesitantly. Many people resented an outsider voicing opinions on their family business—but he'd _asked_. "Naturally you're worried for your daughter's safety. However, money isn't the only reason for a job, there's the sense of fulfillment and productivity she gains from it. It's doubtful the goblins would be gutsy enough to come back after what happened, and with aurors on extra patrol in Diagon Alley. Once the roof is fixed and new security measures established, they won't dare try it again."

"So you think we should let her retain her employment?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow up.

"I think it ought to be her decision. She's not a child, she's nearly twenty and has been trained in self defense. What do Glenna and Jack think?" inquired Aline.

Severus' arms tightened around her. "Glenna was on Jacinta's side, but Jack agreed with me. He doesn't condone our girl putting herself in danger."

Aline gave an involuntary, disbelieving snort. "Or is it that you two can't bear to see her grow up and make her own choices? What are you going to do when she gets married? Her husband won't appreciate her fathers-in-law interfering."

Snape's hard eyes bored into the top of her head. "Do you know something I don't? Has she told you of some plans with Theodore?"

"No," laughed Aline, pushing out of his grip. Goodness gracious, the man was paranoid! "I'm just saying she's a big girl, and anyone can see she and Theo adore each other."

"Hmm," replied Severus pensively. Aline was right about that, Jacinta and Theo had gotten very cozy lately, he wouldn't be surprised if the kids turned up engaged. It seemed to be going around. It wouldn't be so bad, Theodore was a good lad, smart and kind, treated Jacinta with respect. That's all he'd better be treating her to…..

Now that he had it on the brain, this seemed like the perfect time to broach a daunting subject. With all the finesse he could muster, Severus blurted, "Will you marry me?" Okay, maybe _finesse_ was the wrong word….very, very wrong word, judging from the witch's expression.

Aline stared at him the way she used to look at him when they'd been bickering coworkers, a mixture of suspicion and incredulity. "Well, I didn't see that coming—oh wait, yes I did! As soon as I told you I wouldn't have sex, I had a feeling you'd either dump me or pop the question."

"You appear less than thrilled," drawled Snape, whose own thrill-meter was hovering at zero right about now. "Perchance you were hoping for the other option."

Shaking her head, the woman made a helpless palms-up gesture. "It's hardly flattering to know you're proposing in order to get into my pants sooner."

Severus flashed his unparalleled sneer. "Give me some credit. If I only wanted sex, I'd pick up a bint in a pub!"

Failing to check with her brain, the words slid from Aline's mouth. "Is that how you've been satisfying yourself all these years?" Wow, even to her that sounded uber-snarky.

"I am not a whoremonger!" thundered the wizard. "Did it never enter your annoyingly narrow frame of mind that I want to marry you because I bleeding love you?"

Rolling her eyes, Aline retorted, "That's so churlishly romantic I think I'll cry."

"I never claimed to be romantic," he snapped through gritted teeth.

"Good thing. I can't abide liars," she snapped back.

"Should I feel special that you deign to abide me at all?" Severus growled. "You're not exactly perfect, _Miss Conn_!"

"And _I_ never claimed to be perfect!"

"Good thing," Severus snarled in a fair imitation of Aline's voice.

Taking his cue, Aline affected a deeper tone nowhere approximating Snape's rich baritone, though her mimicry of his accent was spot on. "I'm Severus Snape, emotionless wonder. I enjoy upsetting women because I'm an arrogant, tactless twig!"

Severus smirked, then started to chuckle. "Really, if you're going to insult me, try to get it right. I believe you mean 'prig'."

Aline blushed, which only fueled her anger at herself for blushing and at him for gloating like a twelve-year-old schoolboy. "You would know! And now you're going to say that lame 'I'm not laughing _at_ you, I'm laughing _with_ you'."

That made Snape chortle even harder. "Don't be ludicrous. Of course I'm laughing _at_ you."

"Have a good time. I'm not sticking around to listen!" Aline barked, jumping to her feet and nimbly avoiding the hand he stretched out to try to stay her. She stomped to the door and flung it open.

"Think about my offer!" Severus called before the door crashed shut so hard it shook in the frame. He could honestly say he'd never seen the heavy wooden structure do that before.

He threw himself back onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling. That couldn't have gone worse if he'd deliberately planned for it to. No, scratch that—things could always be worse, and usually tended to get that way. No matter how he looked at it, it had gone horrifically badly…rather standard procedure where he and love intersected.

Aline assumed his proposal to be bogus and scheming, with good cause. It had hardly been the stuff fairy tales are made of…well, maybe those old Muggle fairy tales wherein the protagonist's enemies had limbs removed or were burned alive, but failing that it was more of a disaster. This was what he got for being spontaneous!

If he believed he'd escape with his eyes intact, among other cherished body parts, he'd go to Aline to talk it out. They'd both acted childishly and he really was sorry for hurting her feelings. He paused to reflect on that; when had he gotten to the point where he felt guilty for provoking someone to anger or reducing them to tears? It wasn't just any someone, though, it was _her_…she was different and special. Still, it was probably best to let the spitfire cool down. For now, he could practice groveling…or sleeping. Sleep was good.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

When Harry skipped down the stairs from Snape's office and burst out into the hallway, he pulled up short with an involuntary squeak. "Luna, you startled me, I thought you were Snape."

Luna cocked her head and gave a dreamy grin. "Have I begun to look like him? It's only a matter of time before we all morph into someone else, I hear."

"What? Where on Earth did you hear that—never mind," Harry answered. She had a way of confusing him when she talked too much—or at all. "If you were going to see Snape, he's not there."

"That's alright, I've forgotten why I came." Luna glanced down at the triangular silver capsule with dangling blue beads that Harry clutched in his hand. "Why do you have the goblin detecting amulet?"

Harry slid it into his jeans pocket. "I-uh-listen, Luna, I've just come to borrow it. I've got a feeling the goblins are somewhere in Diagon Alley, but the aurors haven't found anything."

"What makes you think the goblins are there?"

"Several shops were raided the same night as the portrait shop where Snape's daughter works," Harry explained. "Unless the group of goblins is big enough to divide up and rob all the places at once, they had to go from shop to shop—"

"—which means they had to dump their loot between robberies," Luna finished in a murmur. "Shouldn't we tell Professor Snape?"

Harry grimaced at her. "Do you really think he'd believe I want to help? Besides, it's only a hunch. If I find them, I can notify the authorities…and him."

"Don't you mean 'we'?" Luna beamed, taking Harry's hand. "I'm coming with you. If you got killed, who would do all the reckless and dangerous things we've come to expect?"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Luna and Harry walked slowly along Diagon Alley, the talisman open on Harry's palm so they could monitor the uncut ruby inside. Due to the proximity of goblins here and there in the alley, so far the amulet hadn't ceased a low level glow; if it began to pulse a fiery red, they needed to note exactly where.

"Hey, Potter, I thought Weaselby was your girlfriend!" Blaise Zabini snickered. He pushed up from the wall where he'd been loitering in the shade.

"Which Weaselby—Ron or Jenny?" asked Daphne, smiling nastily and eliciting a hearty laugh from Blaise. He shot her an appreciative glance which she acknowledged with a nod.

"It's Ginny," snapped Harry, stopping to glare at the pair.

"Lovegood's a step up, if you ask me," Zabini sneered.

"Who asked you?" growled Harry.

Luna took Harry's arm to pull him along. "We don't want to quarrel." A hard tug jerked him off balance and they careened directly in front of the doorway to a sweets shop where Gregory and Pansy were coming out, barely avoiding colliding with them.

Both of the Slytherins looked around in surprise at the gathering. Blaise and Daphne had been waiting for them, but why were these others here?

"When did you start hanging out with _them_?" inquired Pansy, pointing at Potter and Lovegood and wrinkling her nose in distaste.

Blaise shrugged, smirking still. "You know how it is when you're popular. Everyone wants a piece of you."

Goyle meanwhile had fixated on the ruby inside the amulet. "Didn't know you were into jewelry, Potter. That's kinda girly."

"Shut up, Goyle," Harry retorted as he and Luna retreated on their quest, leaving the clique to gossip after them. They hadn't time to worry over it, for two shops down the ruby began to glow furiously.

"This can't be right," Luna remarked. They were standing in front of a burned-out building left vacant after the war. Nonetheless, she shuffled up close to take a glimpse between the beams left standing. Before she realized it Harry had gone inside; she scrambled after him. "No one could live here, Harry."

"But this is where—maybe there's a goblin hiding in here," he suggested. The amulet hadn't lit up like that for no reason. He removed his wand from his pocket.

Luna followed suit, matching him step for step, almost stuck to his side as she glanced about warily. All at once they heard a creaking, groaning sound and the floor swayed slightly. They halted in their tracks; the next instant the weakened, burned floor gave way and the two teens plunged downward into a makeshift cavern dug from the ruined basement of the shop. They landed unceremoniously in a heap amid twisted timbers and ashes, dropping the talisman and their wands in the fall.

"Luna, are you okay?" Harry sat up, brushing himself off, his glasses askew across the bridge of his nose.

Moaning, caked in dust, her face scratched from a charred board, Luna sat up as well to find them surrounded by a group of six goblins who looked extremely stunned to see them. "Hello there. Perhaps you can help us. We're looking for a rogue band of goblins."

Harry elbowed her in the side, grunting under his breath, "Luna, I think we've found them."


	61. Truth or Consequences

Death Eater No More—Chapter Sixty-One (Truth or Consequences)

_Moaning, caked in dust, her face scratched from a charred board, Luna sat up as well to find them surrounded by a group of six goblins who looked extremely stunned to see them. "Hello there. Perhaps you can help us. We're looking for a rogue band of goblins."_

_Harry elbowed her in the side, grunting under his breath, "Luna, I think we've found them."_

The goblins gaped in astonishment at the two intruding humans sitting amid a pile of burned out rubble. Karnak hadn't mentioned anything about expecting…Harry Potter? And some blond ditz…

Ratell, the only one of the goblins present who fully comprehended Luna's query, made a choking noise in the back of his throat. "_Sutsera ot ere heray eht, meht teg!"_ (Grab them, they're here to arrest us!)

Without a pause he pounced; his fellows followed suit, three at Luna, three at Harry.

"_Accio_, wand!" screamed Harry and Luna at once.

Luna's wand zipped into her fingers, she pointed, and a stunning spell sent one goblin skidding backward onto his rear. The ones with him halted briefly, then started to attack once more.

Harry's wand, which sought out its master's hand, thunked into the back of Ratell's head as he jumped in front of Potter. It rebounded off and fell to the dirt floor. With the help of his friends, Ratell dragged the boy to his knees, whipped him hard around in a circle, and let go. Harry literally flew several meters across the dank, dim room and collided head first with the Mirror of Erised that had been tucked away in a corner, presumably for safety.

The cacophony of gibbering goblins and shouting humans was shattered by an ear-splitting crash of glass. All movement, all sound ceased as every eye instinctively turned to the source. As if in slow motion, chunks and bits of mirror rained down upon Harry, whose bloodied skull had penetrated the lower half of the ancient artifact. The glass seemed to float down, spinning and swirling, to bounce off his back and shoulders, occasionally to open a fresh slit on his face or neck.

The first one to react was Ratell, primarily due to the intense terror gripping his gut. He'd broken the Mirror, he'd ruined all their plans, Karnak would butcher him! Unless…unless he went and found the others, told them the wizard hero boy had invaded the place and viciously smashed it—with a bunch of aurors. Yes, definitely a dozen or so. Why, he'd barely escaped before being caught! He raced to the nearest entrance hole and popped through just as a voice rang out above.

"What the hell are you doing down there, Potter?" It was Blaise Zabini, surrounded by the rest of his pack of cohorts.

"_Lumos_!" called Daphne. The hole below brightened considerably.

"We're being assaulted by goblins," Luna called back. A red light flashed from her wand. "They seem a bit put out at being interrupted." Another flash. "I think Harry's hurt."

The group crowded around the jagged hole in the floor of the building, shooting futile hexes and curses of their own into the cavern. They looked at each other all at once then, like harkening to an unspoken command, they apparated simultaneously into the basement-turned-cave.

Zabini cast an _immobulus_ that froze one goblin in his tracks—or more aptly his knee prints, for he'd scuttled into a hole trying to escape precisely as the spell hit him. Goyle had throttled another goblin in his meaty fist; he rammed the creature's head into a support beam and the goblin dropped like a lead weight.

Daphne _stupefied_ one of the little monsters who'd made a break for a second exit when the reinforcements arrived, then she turned to see her friend at work. Pansy had hexed yet another of the beasts with a boil-producing curse; when he bared his pointy teeth and continued to come at her, she shrieked in alarm and did what came naturally—she elbowed him in the face. He fell to his knees howling, but a swift kick to the head knocked him cold.

"Nice one, Pansy!" Goyle grunted, leering appreciatively at his wife. He never thought he'd be turned on by watching her fight!

Counting the enemy Luna had first stunned, then bound in roots, that accounted for them all. She got up and padded over to Harry, who'd awakened and begun to groan. He picked himself up carefully as shards of glass tumbled around. With a swish and flick, Luna cleaned the bits of mirror clinging to his scalp and body.

"Are you alright, Harry?" she asked, handing him his wand and studying his abrasions.

"Yeah, I—what happened? What are _they_ doing here?" he inquired in confusion.

Blaise stepped forward and bowed mockingly. "Just saving your pathetic arse, Potter. Don't fall all over yourself thanking us."

"Yeah, right. Slytherins coming to _my_ rescue?"

"It's true, Harry," Luna said, gesturing at the four Slytherins. "If they hadn't come, I don't think I could have fought off all five goblins…one got away. If one of them had bit me, I might've become a goblin. No, wait, that's a vampire. Never mind that part." She smiled dreamily.

"Holy crap, Potter, you busted the Mirror of Erised!" Goyle exclaimed, as if he'd only now noticed. "What'd ya do that for?"

"I didn't do it on purpose," Harry snarled back. First to be knocked unconscious, then to wake up finding himself indebted to Slytherin prats…it was too much. "Why were you following me?"

"Oh, that's rich," Daphne retorted, crossing her arms. "We save you and you not only fail to offer thanks, you accuse us of stalking you. For your information, we heard shouting and then the mirror shattering."

"So understandably we assumed you were in trouble again," Pansy added, smirking and gloating. "We thought we'd help Lovegood out of whatever mess you dragged her into."

Blaise had walked over to the spot where a silver triangular capsule decorated with blue beads lay open on the ground. He picked it up, and as he did so the ruby inside crumpled into several chunks and thudded to the earth. "Looks like you mangled your toy."

Looking on, his glasses righted on his nose, Harry gasped in horror. When Snape found out he'd taken the amulet—and Luna—on a goblin hunt, he'd be livid enough. When he discovered Harry had broken the amulet… "Snape is going to kill me."

"Don't be silly, Harry," Luna said brightly, coming up next to him and poking at the ruby pieces with her foot. "He's on our side, remember? He'll only make you _wish_ you were dead. Besides, we've captured five goblins, he'll be glad of that."

"Speaking of which, we'd best fetch some aurors," Daphne announced, tugging on Blaise's sleeve. "Wouldn't want all the credit going to certain people." She apparated out with Zabini.

Deliberately ignoring Pansy and Goyle snogging next to a wall, Harry glanced around the cavern at the goblins lying about, the smashed ruby, the utterly destroyed Mirror of Erised. Some days he really, really wished he could _think_ before jumping into action…and he'd still have to face Snape and thank the Slytherins for their help. He didn't know which one he dreaded more.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"May I come in?" Severus poked his head in through the door of the Potions lab. He'd neglected to go back to his office as he usually did after his classes had finished for the day, knowing Aline would be free and very keen on seeing her. The students had gone, only Aline remained behind grading essays.

She peered up at him and attempted a smile that came off rather wan. "Sure."

"You've been avoiding me since last night," he stated as he strode up the aisle, robes billowing slightly. He observed with satisfaction his prized specimens that had been rebottled in new containers and put on display around the room as before…albeit in order according to size. He suppressed a sardonic chuckle; he'd come to make up, not make her angry.

Aline laid her quill on the polished wooden surface and capped her ink, keeping her gaze fixed on his chest instead of his face. Her voice sounded distant, strangely detached. "I'm sorry we fought. You threw me for a loop with that proposal, it brought up some issues…" She drifted off.

Snape came to stand beside the desk, looking down at the stack of parchments, which he fingered lightly. Ugh—first year essays! The one on top was already heavily marked with scribbled notations in red ink in the margins. "Truth be told, I could have been less of a bastard. Why don't we put it behind us?" In an effort to demonstrate his good will, he reached for her hand but she pulled away.

"Severus, I can't! I can't go through this again." The sudden appearance of tears in her soulful brown eyes made his stomach twist in painful knots.

"Through what? I don't want to quarrel."

"We shouldn't see each other anymore." Her words hung in the air like the putrid stench of sulfur.

What began as a clenching in his gut spread rapidly to the rest of his body. Alright, admittedly he'd behaved a bit boorishly last night, but Aline was prepared to end it all because of _that_? Mustering his control he said, "I didn't realize I'd upset you that badly."

"It's not you, it's me," she replied softly.

Snape rolled his eyes. Here we go, time for the trite get-lost expressions. "Oh, that's original," he sneered.

Aline raised her eyes to his in a penetrating glare that bore a wisp of haunting sadness. "If you'd like the Cliff Notes version, I'd rather end it before you do."

He had to say, he'd never heard that one before. "Your competitiveness borders on neurotic; it's frankly a bit unnerving." When the taunt failed to elicit the desired rebuttal—or any response at all—he plunked himself down on the corner of her desk, crossed his arms, and cocked his head to gaze at her expectantly. "Do tell. What in bloody hell is going on?"

There was a long, increasingly uncomfortable pause while Aline drummed her fingers and searched for an escape. With their typical lack of concern for the sentiments of mere mortals, time and space refused to cooperate in opening an inter-dimensional portal or in ending the world as they knew it. Finally, convinced she'd have to give the man an explanation, she sighed. The tears that had begun to well in her eyes trickled down her cheeks at the thought of cutting him loose, but it was now or later. Already she'd let it go on too long, let herself fall too hard, and now she'd pay with the pain; anyway, if she didn't do it, he would.

"I've been putting off telling you…I hoped to avoid it entirely, only that's not possible if I'm to be truthful with you," Aline murmured in a tone so hushed Severus had to lean forward to hear her. Her eyes remained fixed on the bland, lifeless desktop that couldn't offer indignant or accusing stares. "I respect you too much to lie, so here it is: you're like a strong conduit to a seer. I have visions—a lot—when I touch you." She swallowed a lump climbing up her throat.

_That_ was her big secret? Snape let out a huge breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. So she saw things, he knew that—ooooh. His eyes widened a touch. This was bad. What horrors must she have seen, what kind of monster did she think he was?

Dropping his defensive stance he pleaded, "Aline, I'm not the same man I was! The memories are disturbing, I know—"

Her voice cracking, Aline uttered, "Severus, please. Let me finish, I have to say this. One of the images I saw was Harry's father torturing you." She glanced up to catch a glint of hatred, then the briefest moment of shame pass over his features. "I've seen things, private things…those that are hurtful and odious and embarrassing. I didn't tell you because I'm not a fool, I understood that it's just too hard for a man to accept."

Surely there was a point buried in there somewhere deep, deep down, though Severus was having a deuce of a time finding it. "So you viewed some memories. I'm still not following what this has to do with anything."

"It has to do with _everything_!" she exclaimed, slapping a palm on the desk for emphasis. "Nobody wants to be an open book to another human, nobody wants their darkest memories brought to light. I can't help it, it's what I do, it was foolish to hope things with you could be different."

Enough already. Severus edged closer to the witch, gently took her by both arms to make her face him, and drawled tightly, "Aline, tell me what it is you're trying to say, because I haven't a sodding clue!"

"It's always the same pattern," she choked out, unable to look at him. "In the past, if a wizard hadn't already broken up with me for refusing to have sex with him or for being 'too weird', he'd run screaming away when he found out I saw inside his mind. People can't handle having me in their heads. I'm saving you the trouble of leaving me by breaking up with you first." She lowered her head; the tears dripping from her eyes fell to the floor in an ominous silence.

"I'd say that was gallant of you, were I not wholly affronted by the comparison to a bunch of losers you've dated," said Severus evenly, releasing her arms. "I am not other men, and I prefer to make my own decisions, not have them foisted on me."

He was still here. Why was he still here? Morbid curiosity as to why Snape hadn't run for the hills took over, and Aline lifted her tearstained face to challenge him. "So are you saying it wouldn't bother you for me to find out all your secrets? Of all the people I've known, I suspect you must have a great deal of secrets."

"I do," he replied honestly, shrugging.

Why hadn't he seen this coming? In retrospect, it seemed inevitable. Aline sometimes had visions from touching people; Aline frequently touched _him_. Ergo, logic dictated she'd have racked up a number of visions by now. Knowing Aline as he did, he should have concluded that she'd feel morally compelled to inform him of what she'd seen—although really, how could he have anticipated her past experiences that tainted her view of this relationship?

Who cared what those other boneheads thought? If they failed to recognize a glimmering jewel, it only reflected on their own stupidity! Over this past year, any faith he'd ever had in humanity—which admittedly wasn't a lot—had been reaffirmed and strengthened by this woman's kindness and compassion, her oddball humour, her unswerving devotion to her brats—er, students, her deep capacity for love while retaining that delicious sense of sarcasm. If any witch were to be trusted with his memories, it was her. Only her.

In a rough tone he murmured, "If the choice of keeping my secrets to myself means losing you, then take them. Take them all."

"You're only saying that to make me feel better," Aline whispered.

"Seriously, does that sound like something I would do?" he asked, smirking.

"No," she acknowledged, wiping at her eyes with the palms of her hands.

The door burst open wide and a firstie boy trotted in. He skidded to a stop upon seeing his teacher at the front of the room weeping and Professor Snape sitting on the desk, head turned round to glower at him. "I—I—forgot my book." He pointed feebly toward one of the tables.

"Is the concept of knocking on a closed door completely alien to you?" demanded the man crossly.

Vehemently the lad shook his head. "Sorry, sir."

Using his wand, Snape levitated the lone book on the front table and gave his wrist a flick, sending it sailing at the student. It thumped him in the chest as he caught it, then he whirled and ran out. To his friends waiting in the hallway he exclaimed, "Snape even makes the teachers cry!"

After the boy had gone Severus shut and locked the door with a single swish of his wand; another flick brought Aline's chair rolling to stop directly in front of him. When he reached down and took her hands in his, this time she made no move to pull away. "If it would ease your mind, you're not the only one who's made unauthorised forays into people's memories. I _am_ a Legilimens."

"Have you delved into my mind?"

"A bit, but let's not get off topic," Severus replied, hurriedly maneuvering the conversation away from his own culpability. "So in essence you were afraid I'd leave you if I knew you'd been privy to my thoughts, and all the while I've dreaded that seeing my past would send _you_ screaming away. Quintessential irony."

"Where do we go from here?" Aline asked hesitantly.

Severus squeezed her hands ever so gently, wanting with all his heart to yank her forward into his arms. She was scared of losing him; it comforted him and made him sad at the same time. Her pitiful attempt at rejecting him had been a defense mechanism to prevent hurt, something he could fully empathise with. "I meant it when I proposed to you, Aline. I realize that my timing was questionable, but I've not exactly done it before. I believe you love me, and I am willing to entrust you with my very _thoughts_—doesn't that prove I also love you?"

Aline nodded with a slow, thoughtful deliberation. "Discounting yesterday's caustic remarks and humor at my expense, I think you made a pretty good case."

"And your answer?"

The woman smiled in a self-deprecating way. "It is hard to find a man who can put up with the freak show that is me."

"No!" interrupted Severus forcefully, his voice rumbling with an undercurrent of suppressed rage honed by his own life experiences, his obsidian eyes glinting with intensity. "Never let anyone make you feel like less than you are. You are a rare commodity, not a freak show."

"Not in my family," Aline answered, smiling ruefully and shaking her head as she squeezed his hands in return. "All the Conns have a strong, well controlled gift of clairvoyance; mine is mediocre, erratic. They try to reassure me that it doesn't matter, but it's nearly impossible not to feel inadequate. The only consolation is that I have at least some degree of the talent, otherwise the sense of inferiority would be too overwhelming to bear."

"Inadequate?" Severus echoed, incredulously raising his eyebrows a notch. "Your gift freed me from a soul-crushing love potion; it saved Bayly from that bastard Dolohov when he was afraid to come forward on his own; you viewed the wretched curse the boy was under, enabling us to heal him. I must believe there have been dozens of others you've helped. That hardly qualifies as 'inadequate'."

She didn't answer right away, then all at once she blurted, "I really hated you when I first took this job."

Taken aback, Snape blinked several times. "Um…thank you?"

Aline let out a laugh like the tinkling of a wind chime. "Don't pretend you didn't feel the same. I could almost touch the loathing that emanated from you." When he tacitly concurred by his silence, she went on, "I was going to say so much has changed. You can be obstinate and mean and petty, yet you're capable of such selfless acts of courage, of responsibility and dedication to your students and loved ones, of tenderness to a boy who so desperately needed it…and to me. You really are the knight in shining armor that little girls dream about." Her eyes welled again as she continued very softly, "And sometimes I feel like I must be in a dream because things like this don't happen to me, good men like you don't love fr—rare commodities like me."

Severus bent in so close his lips brushed her ear, his body tense and his breathing shallow as he whispered, "You think I'm a good man?"

"I know you are." She let go of his hands in order to lift hers to his face. She stroked his cheeks, lips, and chin, brushed his hair back with her fingers. "There's just one thing I should warn you about: making intercontinental wedding arrangements is going to be hell."


	62. May 27, 1999

Death Eater No More—Chapter Sixty-Two (May 27, 1999)

**May 27, 1999**

"Miss Lovegood. Detention. One week." Severus clipped the words out, afraid that if he let loose the tirade pushing at his brain, he may not he able to stop. It wasn't Lovegood he wanted to vent at, it was the annoyingly alive Potter!

"Can I be a house elf again?" asked Luna hopefully.

"No," growled Snape through clenched teeth.

Bowing her head, Luna sighed and shuffled to the door. It wasn't Professor Snape's fault, she mused. If she and Harry had come to him instead of running headlong into peril and putting their lives at risk, the talisman wouldn't be broken. It just wouldn't be fair to reward her for reckless behavior.

The moment she'd gone Snape turned his glower on the Boy Wonder; if the truth of the matter were revealed, it was a _wonder_ the idiot was still alive! The aurors who had accompanied Potter and Lovegood back to Hogwarts sang the brat's praises, of course. If they were to be believed, Potter had captured five rogue goblins—singlehandedly, no doubt! Fortunately, Luna had the Ravenclaw sense to narrate the authentic version of what happened, how Potter had been knocked unconscious and the Slytherin quartet had stepped in to help. It did Snape's heart good, it was high time Slytherins got credit for more than being disreputable thugs.

Severus almost—_almost_—allowed a grin as he imagined Potter lying with his head crashed through the blasted, cursed mirror. Its demise posed him no irritation because it served no useful purpose to begin with, he'd often wondered why Dumbledore kept it around. He only wished he could have been the one to toss the ninny head first into the object! Failing that, he'd like to watch…maybe he'd get permission to question the goblins, search their memories under the guise of discovering information. He could access that specific memory and replay it for many hours of joy in the years ahead.

Sensing the malevolence rolling off the other man, Harry got up from his chair, smiling sheepishly. "Well, I should probably go now."

From behind his desk where he was standing, Severus leaned forward and whacked Potter in the forehead with the palm of his hand, not hard enough to actually hurt him, but enough to jar him and land him back in the chair.

"Ow!" exclaimed Harry, getting up shakily once more, looking stunned.

Snape popped him again and he fell into the chair. "Sit!"

Harry thought for once maybe he ought to do as he was told. He stayed seated. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Smacking you in the head, you dimwit," snarled Severus, rounding the desk and making Harry flinch. Though not planned, the boy's reaction gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling that he was doing something right. "What were you thinking? Do Gryffindors ever stop to think?"

"I—"

"Shut. Up. If you want to put your own life in danger, and God knows you seem hell-bent on it, that's your decision. You do _not_ take my students with you when an asinine notion strikes you! You do _not_ take artifacts that belong to someone else without permission!" Severus flung the amulet into Harry's lap and bent in, his face only inches from the boy's. "It's called _stealing_, I'm sure you've heard the word. Now I'm left to explain to Headmaster Tanassov what befell the talisman he lent to me and left in my care. If others hadn't come to your rescue, I might be explaining to Miss Lovegood's father what befell his daughter!"

Severus left off panting in fury. He stood up to pace in agitation. The boy was grown up, when was he going to learn to act like it? After everything that had happened in the war, he'd thought Potter might have matured a bit more!

"Professor, I'm sorry." Harry reached over and set the damaged amulet on the desk, his face glowing with shame. If anything Snape had said was inaccurate, he'd gladly set the record straight, but there was nothing he could defend. He could have been killed…_Luna_ could have died because of him. He ought to have told Snape about his hunch, or at the very least gone to Kingsley Shacklebolt. He ran his fingers through his spiky mess of hair. "You're right about everything. It's my responsibility, I'll tell Tanassov what happened, that it wasn't your fault. Don't be too angry with Luna, she only went along to make sure I had backup. I used terrible judgment and I really am sorry."

_Damn that little monster! Now he was agreeing!_ How was Snape supposed to continue to rail at him when he was bloody agreeing? And _apologizing_? On general principles he ought to throttle the brat, who genuinely sounded sincere. How dare he ruin a perfectly good, legitimate rant by offering contrition? Damn him!

Fine, two could play that game. Despite the impression students, teachers, and the general public had, Severus was capable of reacting with class. He set his face, wound his robe about himself, and murmured, "You realize, of course, that I will not be asking you back for a position next year."

"Yeah, I kind of got that," Harry answered with evident relief. He'd seriously thought Snape was going to hurt him. Before that event occurred, he thought it prudent to escape as expediently as possible. "Can I go now?"

"By all means," responded Snape, gesturing grandly toward the exit. "Do let me know when you'd like to visit Headmaster Tanassov. I'll arrange to have you floo there from here in my office." _And delight in counting the pieces of you he sends back!_

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Bayly moaned and rolled his eyes in disbelief. Not again! Half seated on his own bed, Floyd had his head tilted back, bottle to his lips, chugging firewhiskey as their two roommates looked on cheering. When Floyd could drink no more for the liquid scalding his throat, he passed the bottle on to another boy, who apparently was no stranger to alcohol.

"What is wrong with you?" Bayly snapped. He stomped over and dumped his books on his bed. "Professor Snape gave you a bunch of detentions last time he found that stuff. And you're going to make yourself sick!"

"Don' be a spile…spoil sport," Floyd slurred. "Wan' some?"

"No! I want to study, we have exams coming up soon."

"Pththt," Floyd answered in a drunken raspberry. "Studyin' is for Hupplefuffs."

The other two, both as inebriated as Floyd, convulsed in guffaws over the mistake. Shaking his head, Bayly selected one book from his stack and vacated the room. He'd get no studying done here, and it wasn't being loyal to his friend to report the boys. Even with the number of students coming and going, and those merely chatting around the area, the common room was quieter than his own space.

He took up roost on the sofa nearest the fireplace, his legs stretched out over the couch like a king. It seemed to him he ought to remove his shoes if he were going to put up his feet, but no one else ever did, he'd feel weird. He'd only begun reading when a blond head bobbing by caught his attention.

"Hi, Bayly."

"Hey, Luna! Floyd's in our room, but he's kind of, uh…"

Luna smiled dreamily as she strolled over to him. "Oh, I'm not seeing Floyd."

Taken aback, Bayly paused. He had been willing to bet Floyd was indeed seeing Luna. If they broke up, why hadn't he mentioned it? "I thought you were."

"I was. And now I'm not."

"Does Floyd know that?" he asked cautiously. Gentle girl notwithstanding, she did tend to be rather flaky.

"Yes. He didn't take it very well at first, but in the end we decided to be friends," Luna said, giving a rueful smile. Then seamlessly moving on to a new topic she announced, "Gloria showed me her engagement ring. It's lovely."

"I think so, too. Gloria picked it out."

Staring down at her own hand, angling it back and forth as if she were the one wearing the ring, Luna stated, "A radish shape would have been nice. Maybe when I get married."

Chuckling at his kooky friend, Bayly set his feet on the floor and patted the couch. "Why don't you sit down and talk? It's been ages."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Lucius and Draco apparated to the Scotland home formerly belonging to Varden Lestrange and now occupied by Udo Nott and his family. They'd received an owl from Wallace Marshal, badly coded to say Rodolphus and Rabastan would be present and wished their old friends to behold their new faces. Needless to say, Lucius immediately destroyed the note, though he was rather curious as to how the Lestranges looked. He'd known them all his life, it felt odd to know they had started new lives in every way, including appearance.

Sitting on the front porch, one on the railing, the other in a chair, were two men unfamiliar to the Malfoys, yet at the same time hauntingly familiar. The men's heads turned and the stockier one waved and motioned them up.

"Lucius, good to see you!" boomed Rodolphus, giving the stunned wizard a quick hug and slap on the back. His voice, as yet unaltered, gave him away instantly.

"Roddy! Look at you!" Lucius held his brother-in-law at arm's length, unable to tear his eyes from the grinning new face. That smile was definitely the same! All in all, the effect was quite pleasing. "Nice haircut."

Rabastan ambled up to stand beside his brother; his slimmer frame notwithstanding, the two had never looked more like brothers than they did now. "Hello, Lucius."

"Good to see you, Rabastan," Lucius answered, his eyes twinkling.

"It's Jorab now," responded the other, smiling. "Jorab Goodman. But you can call me Rab or Rabby if you want." His voice, too, was a dead giveaway.

"And I'm Wendolph Goodman," added Rodolphus. "Dolph is fine."

"You look different, but you both sound the same," observed Draco from the corner of the porch where he leaned against the wall feeling awkward and forgotten. "Somebody could still recognize you."

Jorab twisted round and pulled Draco over with the rest of them. "Yeah, you're right, kid. We wanted you to see us before we modify our voices with that potion Snape gave Marshal. It's kind of hard to swallow all the changes at once."

"Has Severus seen you yet?" asked Lucius, cranking around as if expecting him to appear.

Wendolph shook his head as he said, "No, we figured you could introduce us later. He trusts you, he knows you wouldn't lie to him about us."

The front door opened and Theodore Nott poked his head out. "Hi, Mr. Malfoy. Hey, Draco. My parents said to come on in, my mum had the elves make up all sorts of sweets for tea."

Obediently they all trooped inside; Theo pulled Draco aside for a quick, muttered conversation, then Draco addressed his father, "Theo says Marshal left his knives and axes here. Would it be alright if we practice throwing them at a target?"

Aware of all the eyes on him and not wishing to seem like an overprotective ogre father—and conveniently forgetting the incident with Marshal and the kids not so long hence wherein he'd acted precisely like that—Lucius debated rapidly in his mind. Draco had been showing a great deal of maturity, and he was smart enough to treat the tools with respect. Since Narcissa wasn't here to gainsay him, as long as there were no injuries everything would be fine. "You have my permission, son." The warning glance and slight tilt of his head that he shot at Draco clearly said, _Don't make me sorry for this or I will make __you__ very sorry._ Draco nodded in acknowledgement.

Nott frowned. It didn't take a genius to ascertain that Theo had intentionally put Draco up to asking first because he knew his own parents didn't want him messing with dangerous implements unsupervised. He'd rather hoped Lucius would veto Draco's suggestion, only now that Malfoy had given assent it would seem unreasonable for _him_ to deny Theo the opportunity. Marshal wasn't here to keep an eye on the boys, and he remembered what it was like to be young and stupid. "Go ahead, Theo, but if you boys start fooling around and throwing them at each other, you know what'll happen."

"Yes, Dad, one of us could get hurt. We're not idiots."

"I was referring to the sore arse you'd be nursing after I kicked it," growled Nott, making his son blush and the other men laugh, which only turned him a deeper shade of red.

Draco tugged on Theo's sleeve and the two hurried out. They dashed down into the cellar where a large, plain wooden trunk secured with a padlock was set against the far wall. Together the young men drew their wands in a contest to see who could open the trunk first; double _alohomora_ spells hit the lock and they lifted the lid.

"Goldmine," crooned Theo, gazing in awe at the assortment of sharp, vicious weapons stacked neatly in piles according to type. A special pack of throwing knives was wrapped up separately in a soft chamois and laid on top of the double-edged axes.

"Why don't we try the knives first," suggested Draco as he unrolled the set. "We can always come back and get something else if we get bored." A sudden thought struck him. "Did Marshal say we could use his weapons?"

"No," Theo shrugged, lifting out two hand axes. "He also never said I couldn't—and he _did_ say to keep them sharpened, which implies using them to get them dull, right?"

"Yes, I guess so. Do you know how to sharpen them?" asked Draco.

"No. Do you?"

Draco shook his head. At the bottom of the trunk he spied a rectangular block of grey stone that he recalled having seen Macnair—_Marshal_ use on an axe one time. He lifted it up and weighed it in his hand; quite heavy and smooth. "He uses this rock…I think he wets it—maybe next time he comes you'd better have him show you what to do. If we damage his stuff he'll smash us."

"Good idea. Let's get going." He waited for Draco to replace the whetstone, then he shut the trunk and clasped shut the lock. He picked up the two axes as Draco re-rolled the knives and put them under his arm, then they headed up the stairs.

Out back, down the slope from the house, was a spot where Marshal had spent many hours practicing when he lived with the Notts. Already there stood a man-size target with worn markings and hundreds of slits, buts, and chips. Theo set down one of the hatchets; the other he raised, drew back his arm in concentration, and let it fly. It missed the target by a meter and sailed into the wood, struck a tree, and bounced to the ground in the thicket.

"Expert aim, I see," snickered Draco. He'd arranged the knives on the chamois behind them on the ground. One of the set he held by the tip of the blade as Marshal had shown them. Gauging the distance, staring intently at the target, he didn't see Theo's tiny sister sidle up to them and squat down to pick up one of the sharp instruments.

"Put that down!" barked Theo in an amazingly adult tone.

"What?" Draco queried with a growing scowl. "Why—"

"No!" shrilled Missy. "You never wanna let me play!"

Theo stormed over to his sister and grabbed her by the wrist, then pried the weapon from her astonishingly strong fingers. "These aren't toys, they're dangerous."

"Then how come Daddy lets _you_ do it?" she demanded, crossing her arms and jutting out her lower lip.

"Because I'm bigger. You're practically a baby, you're only five."

"Six!" screamed Missy, aiming a kick at his shin that he dodged. "I turned six last week!"

"I don't care, you're not playing with knives." Theo crossed his arms to glare down at the little girl, a comical sight to Draco who noticed how very much alike the pair looked and acted. "Go back up to the house."

"No." The girl flopped down on the grass. "I can watch if I want."

Theo positively glowered at his sister. He didn't trust her to merely watch, it wasn't in her nature. Eventually she'd either get in the way, pinch a knife and hurt herself, or cause one of them to be injured. Probably choice number three. "I mean it, I'll tell Mum."

"F—kin' git!" snapped Missy, lurching to her feet to storm off.

Draco's mouth flew open in shock to hear such profanity tumbling casually from the innocent child. Theo's reaction was not wholly different, though he recovered enough to snatch her by the arm and whack her rear so hard it almost sent her legs out from under her. She burst into hysterical sobs and ran toward the house screaming for her daddy.

"Wow. Where'd she learn that?" asked Draco.

"Probably from Marshal," said Theo, shaking his head. "Or maybe Dolph or Rab. If Mum hears it she'll hit the roof."

"Is this the kind of sibling interaction I have to look forward to with Brax and the other baby?" Draco tossed the knife, which skimmed the edge of the target, flipped a few times, and fell to the earth.

"Pretty much. They get better as they get older. My brothers are tolerable now." Theo flung one of the knives. It didn't come even close; a second try impaled in the ground before reaching the target, sending them into a fit of laughter. "We truly suck, don't we?"

"Theodore, get up here!" The unexpected bellow from Theo's father caused both boys to jump.

Eyes widening, Theo peeked up at the porch where his father stood glaring down at him, apparently not in a good mood. "Uh-oh. Looks like the urchin squealed on me," he muttered to his friend, who offered a sympathetic shrug for lack of knowing what else to do. He trudged up the hill and mounted the steps. "Yeah, Dad?"

By the time he'd arrived, Missy had slipped out the back door to huddle against their father's leg, clinging to him and sniffling, one of her dollies gripped tightly in her fist, its body dangling almost to the porch. Nott had his hand on the girl's head, petting her hair soothingly.

"Since when do you spank your sister?" demanded Nott.

Theo shuffled his feet nervously. As much as his dad loved him, Missy was the man's favorite, being the only girl and the youngest. If he'd been fighting with one of his brothers, likely there'd have been no repercussions at all. It was bad enough to get bawled out for mistreating the munchkin when they were alone; in front of company it was mortifying. "It was just one smack. She was playing with knives, I was keeping her from hurting herself."

"So you hit her?" Nott's dark brows raised, the angry expression unchanged.

"No! Well, yeah, but not for that. Tell Dad what you called me, Missy."

In response the child pitched her doll at him. It spun end over end, flying the short distance at unprecedented speed to nail her brother directly in the groin. Exhaling a powerful groan, he doubled over, his hands automatically cupping his private area. That toy was heavier than it looked!

"Missy, that's not being good to your brother," admonished Nott, gently scolding.

"Sorry, Daddy, but he's mean," whined the girl, lips quivering.

Nott lifted his daughter to his chest; she threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. "What did you call Theo?"

Missy repeated the insult, to the utter consternation of the man holding her. Instinctively he glanced about for any sign of his wife; not finding her, he let out a sigh of relief. "That is a very nasty thing to say, young lady. Princesses don't talk that way."

"Uncle Rabby said it," protested the tyke, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "They say loads of stuff."

"From now on if you aren't sure whether you're allowed to say something, you ask me," Nott ordered. "Is that understood?" The little girl murmured agreement.

The man turned his attention to his son. Theo had managed to right himself, even if he was still in pain, proving the injury to be minimal. As far as Udo Nott was concerned, it evened the score between the siblings, and he'd like to forget the whole thing. Missy didn't understand that the spot she'd hit by luck was a delicate region, there was no reason to point it out to her, lest she remember to hit that spot again in the future.

"Theodore, I am the father, not you. If any spanking is to be done, it will come from your mother or me. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." Any argument now would be fruitless and potentially harmful to himself, so Theo decided on the prudent course. Once his father had gone inside, he made his way down the hill where a smirking Draco waited for him.

"Geez, Theo, you should've let her stay. She throws better than you do!" The young Malfoy dissolved into cackles at his joke.

Up at the house, Nott pawned the child off on Fidelia. He needed to speak with his guests, without his baby girl listening in. For Fidelia's part, she was glad to be rid of an inane discussion on some aspect of Quidditch. When he was absolutely sure she was out of earshot, Nott let loose.

"Stop swearing in front of my daughter! She's starting to sound like—like you twits!"

"Pardon me?" interjected Lucius, obviously affronted. "My language is suitable for all ages."

"I meant _them_ and Marshal," Nott clarified, pointing accusingly at the brothers, who both grinned affably at him. "What did I miss while I was gone?"

"We're moving to Bradford once we change our voices. It's midway between Malfoy's place and here. No one will know us, we can live like regular folk," said Dolph.

"There's one thing we need, though," added Rabby, automatically looking to Lucius. "Documents to prove we're who we claim to be. Birth certificates and such."

Not that it wasn't flattering for people to believe him capable of nearly anything under the sun, legal or otherwise, but Lucius was hardly a guttersnipe. His contacts all his life had consisted of high class, wealthy, and influential people. False papers were typically the domain of the underbelly crowd, with whom he had no truck.

Undoubtedly he knew someone at the Ministry who could make these documents appear, but at what price? For the rest of his life he'd be looking over his shoulder, waiting for the blackmail to begin or the aurors to close in. Hadn't he already risked enough by all the help he'd given the fugitives? Even if he _obliviated_ his accomplice, there was a chance that some nosy-body like Percy Weasley would come across a paper that born an unfamiliar name, he'd begin to investigate…Ministry officials were unpredictable.

"It isn't that simple," Malfoy began.

"I know of a bloke in Knockturn Alley who does that kind of work," Nott offered. Suddenly everyone seemed to be looking at him with a great deal of surprise. "What? My dad told me about him. I've never been there…"

"Your dad died over twenty years ago," Rabby reminded him. "Who knows if this guy is still alive?"

"It wouldn't hurt to check," said Dolph resolutely. "The sooner, the better."


	63. Chapter Next One

Death Eater No More—Chapter Sixty-Three (Chapter Next One)

**June 10, 1999**

Severus popped a candy in his mouth, chewing it with a strange sort of pleasure, which was odd since he didn't particularly care for licorice strips wound around a core of sugary delight. He hoped it wasn't a curse set forth on all Headmasters, that they become sweets-gobbling fiends! He'd be lucky to retain all his teeth for another decade at this rate; how had Dumbledore managed?

He shrugged and pushed the bowl to the other side of his desk, then commenced to drumming on the tabletop with his fingers. Speaking of teeth, he'd been thinking he could surprise Aline on their wedding day if he visited a Muggle dentist and had them whitened. He'd been considering it for a while now, what better time? Granger's parents were dentists, weren't they?

He glanced involuntarily at the fireplace. Potter and Lovegood had left only a minute ago, yet time seemed to drag interminably. It couldn't possibly take very long to admit they'd broken the invaluable amulet, let Tanassov vent his fury on them, and come back so Snape could bask in the glow of Potter's mangled body. What was the holdup? Honestly, he had better things to do than wait in his office for that annoying prat to show up! But he so very much wanted to be there to witness it when he did appear.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Harry stepped out of the floo into an austere, cold stone room less than half the size of Snape's office. Aside from a red tapestry with the Durmstrang crest emblazoned on it covering the far wall, the only signs the room was occupied were papers and medical trinkets of some sort on the desk where sat a dark haired man with a clipped beard, reclining back in a relaxed fashion. He rose to his feet in greeting, displaying how very much taller than Harry he was.

"Hello, Harry Potter," said the Headmaster in a velvety deep voice with only a hint of an accent to indicate he was not a native speaker. He seemed about to say something else when the floo sprang to life again and Luna walked out.

"Oh, good, this is the right place," Luna remarked upon spying Harry. "Hello, Headmaster Tanassov."

"Luna, I told you not to come," Harry muttered under his breath.

Tanassov peered right by the young man at the new arrival. He rounded his desk and finessed his way past the boy to lift the girl's hand to his lips. "It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, young lady. Call me Dimitar. And you are?"

"I'm Luna Lovegood. I was with Harry when it happened."

"When what happened?" asked the professor, looking puzzled.

Harry's eyes widened and he glanced over at Luna. Snape hadn't bothered to mention to the Headmaster the _reason_ he was coming? That was _so_ like him! Feeling about an inch high, he removed the talisman from his pocket and handed it to the man. "When I broke this."

Tanassov opened the amulet to see the chunks of ruby nestled inside. His eyebrows dipped, his mouth pinched into a white line, and his nostrils flared ever so slightly. Keeping his voice controlled while slowly advancing on Potter, he growled, "Out of the goodness of my heart—or perhaps out of benevolent stupidity—I agreed to loan this ancient, irreplaceable artifact to Hogwarts, and this is how you repay me? You crush it and then return it to me without a hint of remorse?" Somehow his wand had appeared between his fingers, aimed perilously close to Harry's forehead.

Before Tanassov could really gear himself up for a tirade or worse, Harry sputtered, "I—I am! I mean, I came to say I'm sorry! I took it from Snape's office without his knowledge, I only meant to find the goblins who've been making such trouble and—and…uh…" It was hard to think properly under the circumstances, wand to head and all.

"Harry's telling the truth," Luna interjected lazily, seemingly unconcerned with the fact that her friend was a whisper away from annihilation.

The Bulgarian turned his head toward her, his dark eyes softening. "You were there, you said. Tell me about it." His wand remained poked uncomfortably in Harry's face.

"It's very simple, really. Harry and I were searching for the goblins who've been terrorizing Britain. We fell through the floor of an abandoned building and it dropped in the middle of the goblins," said Luna very seriously. "We're not sure how it got broken, we were busy fighting—well, I was. They threw Harry into the Mirror of Erised and knocked him unconscious."

"Thanks for that, Luna," muttered Potter, flushing.

"You're quite welcome," smiled the young woman.

"You are very brave, Miss Lovegood. You were not harmed by the goblins, were you?" asked Tanassov with genuine concern.

"No, not at all. Some old schoolmates came by and acted as reinforcements."

Tanassov recoiled just a bit. "You—you are still in school?"

"Yes, but I'm eighteen and I graduate next week in case you were considering asking me for a date," Luna offered unabashedly. "I notice you're not wearing a wedding band."

The wizard uttered a 'Hmm' and cocked his head as he regarded the blond. A lady who knew what she wanted and wasn't shy in going after it. He liked that. "What is done is done, the amulet is lost to us. Perhaps one of the goblins touched it; contact with such a creature would have been enough to destroy it."

"Um, sir," Harry chirped from his corner where the wand was still directed at him. "Do you think you could lower your wand?"

Tanassov scowled at him, but he did replace his wand in his black, too-close-to-Snape-like-for-comfort robe. Then he walked over to Luna, bent down, and sniffed her hair. In a self-satisfied, triumphant voice he crowed, "You are part veela! I can smell it."

"Oh, no, that's my shampoo…and maybe a little floo powder," said Luna, patting the dust from her clothing.

"I have worked with veelas in the past, Miss Lovegood. I know whereof I speak." The voracious look in his eyes indicated a fervent desire to assist in patting her down, though he held himself back. He found it vaguely unsettling to be so discombobulated by a woman; even the pure veelas didn't affect him this way! "I am a medi-wizard in addition to professor of Medical and Defensive Magic. Veelas are very adept at herbal cures, they have rendered me assistance in the infirmary many times. Has no one ever told you what you are?"

Luna shook her head soberly, sagely. "It would explain so much, like that ethereal quality people insist on attributing to me. And when I dance under the moonlight on dewy meadows, I get the oddest looks from people. It's not as if I abandon my robes and jump in the lake!"

"Although if you did, it would be perfectly natural," the wizard commiserated.

"Excuse me!" Harry interrupted. Threat of death or no, this was just getting too bizarre and uncomfortable. If Tanassov wanted to hit on Luna, let him do it on his own time, preferably when he was far from Harry! "So for the record, I've apologized for ruining your talisman; have you accepted my apology?"

With the realization that Potter's presence was putting a damper on his romantic activities, and that hexing the savior of the wizarding world into oblivion might not go over well either with Luna or the community at large, Tanassov reluctantly nodded. "It is accepted. However, inform Headmaster Snape that I will be more careful in the future about lending priceless articles."

"Thank you, I'll do that." Harry made haste to head toward the fireplace. "Come on, Luna."

"Miss Lovegood and I have things to discuss," clipped Tanassov. With one huge hand he gave Potter a shove that sent his skinny body spinning into the floo. Before he could get his bearings, Tanassov dropped some floo powder as he said, "Hogwarts."

The last thing he heard was Luna calling cheerfully after him, "Bye, Harry!"

Harry appeared in the fireplace of Snape's office, disheveled but infuriatingly in one piece. Severus jumped to his feet in outrage.

"Why are you still intact?" he snapped in exasperation. Great, that sounded as if he'd deliberately sent Potter to his doom, which of course he'd never be caught doing. "I mean, you're back…unexpectedly."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Harry returned sarcastically.

"Oh, I'll _bet_ you are," Severus growled under his breath. "Was Tanassov so unconcerned about the loss of his amulet?"

"No, he was kind of—well, pissed," Harry explained. "I don't think he'll be loaning you anything for a long time."

"And yet you appear unharmed." Snape crossed his arms, eyebrows cocked in query. "That doesn't sound like his style."

"I think Luna saved me. He seems quite taken with her, even though he's obviously too old. I mean, sure he's good looking, but he's got to be in his thirties!" Harry rambled, then stopped upon noticing the unusually strange looks emanating from the professor. Maybe mentioning the attractive part was going a bit far. Did Snape think he was comparing him to Tanassov? They were close to the same age, they were both obnoxious….

"I don't care, Potter," said Severus, glowering as he broke in on Harry's musings. "Miss Lovegood is of age; if she wants to frolic on the moon with a panda in a dress, that is her decision."

Harry affected an affronted pout. "Anyway, Luna told Tanassov what happened, and he was okay with it, I guess because he thinks she's a veela. Then he pushed me through the floo. I got the impression if Luna hadn't been there, he'd have torn me limb from limb."

"Wouldn't _that_ have been a pity," Snape retorted, rolling his eyes. So much for any entertainment he'd hoped for. He knew he should have made Potter go alone! "You may as well go, your proximity is irritating."

_I love you, too_, Harry grumbled snarkily in his mind. Force of habit now propelled him to push the other man's buttons with no regard for his own safety. "I had thought you and I were beginning a civil relationship, _Professor_. That is, before the whole love-potion-in-the-pensieve incident. Kicked any puppies lately?" He braced himself to throw up an arm for defense or draw his wand.

To his sheer astonishment, Snape neither lunged for his throat nor uttered a painfully crippling curse. Instead the wizard sat down heavily in his seat and stared without expression for a minute before announcing, "I caution you not to misconstrue the following as an admission of wrongdoing. That said, I do not believe your mother intended me any harm, it is possible I overreacted. Now get out, I have work to do."

_It is possible I overreacted._ Despite the disclaimer, it was music to Harry's ears—and also as close to an apology as he'd ever get from Snape. It felt cathartic. Now if only he could get him to acknowledge a myriad of abuses committed over the years…best not to press his luck. "Right then. See you later." When he left, it was with a spring in his step.

"Severus, I'm surprised at you," Dumbledore beamed from his portrait. "I never thought I'd see the day you expressed regret for your treatment of Harry."

"Bite me, old man," responded Severus, sneering at the previous Headmaster.

Eyes twinkling like comets, Dumbledore merely dug through the bowl of sweets on his lap, picked out a raspberry drop, and slipped it into his mouth as he continued to gaze down at Snape. There was hope for him yet!

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Jack Mulciber could count on one hand the times he'd been invited to Malfoy Manor; one instance involved drawing up parental rights for Severus after Jacinta was born, not exactly a pleasure trip. He'd known Narcissa from childhood, but their difference in age had kept them from socializing on any grand scale. Malfoy…well, Jack still presumed the man was only friendly for his wife's sake.

Narcissa and Lucius met the Mulcibers in the parlor nearest the front door—the easier to be rid of them quickly, Jack surmised sullenly. Nonetheless, he sat beside his wife, their daughter at the end of the sofa, all of them rather curious.

Sisidy bustled in with a tray of tea and cakes, which she arranged on the coffee table as Narcissa eased herself down onto the loveseat beside Lucius, whose loving hands stood ready to assist, although at roughly three months along in the pregnancy she didn't truly require aid yet. "Thank you all for coming. As you know, Severus has asked Aline to marry him, and the wedding is set for August."

"And you want to make sure we don't act like bumpkins and make a spectacle of ourselves?" Jack flashed a derisive smile, marring his handsome face. "I thought we were past that, Narcissa."

"So did we," Lucius drawled, staring down the other man. "It makes one wonder why you brought it up. Were you planning to cause a scene?"

Narcissa clutched a hand on her husband's thigh; to the casual observer it would appear a loving gesture, though the pain radiating from the gouges left by her spike-like fingernails told another story. "There, there, dear. Jack is only asking." She eased up, allowing his bugging eyes to recede back into his head. Dourly he checked his pantleg for signs of blood.

"At the risk of sounding rude, Narcissa, why did you ask us here?" inquired Glenna, defensively crossing her arms. "Is Severus un-inviting us?"

"No, not at all!" said the other, motioning to the food. "Please do have some tea, and these cakes are delicious." A sly smile crept over her face and she began to chatter. "As a matter of fact, I was thinking that since Jacinta is Severus' daughter and you two are her parents and friends of his, that it would be an extra special gesture if the three of you did something sweet for him during the reception. Did I mention Lucius and I have insisted on holding the reception here? It could be something as simple as a tri-fold toast from the balcony to—well, whatever strikes your fancy."

"That sounds wonderful!" exclaimed Jacinta, turning to her parents. "Papa's always been so kind to me, and you two are good friends. Wouldn't it be so unexpected and charming to do something?"

"Yes, it would," agreed Glenna, pursing her lips. "But _what_?"

"I'm liking the toast idea," offered Jack as he nibbled on one of the chocolate mini-cakes and swigged the tea. "No preparation needed, we get to tell everybody what we think of Snape…" He laughed out loud at the expression on the women's faces.

Narcissa smiled pleasantly. "I wanted to plant the notion and give you time to think up ideas. If you require anything, I'll need notice to make sure I have it on time."

"Severus really does deserve a special tribute for all he's done for this world," observed Glenna quietly. "He's suffered so much in ways people can't even imagine."

"Like the love potion the Evans mudblood fed him," Lucius chimed in, pleased to come up with so apt an example. The three on the sofa returned a blank stare. "Which I must assume he did not see fit to inform you about." He suddenly felt less pleased and more like an animal in a zoo the way they were gawping at him.

"That bitch gave him a love potion? I knew it, I always knew she did something to him!" exclaimed Glenna, her green eyes flashing. Years may have passed since she and Severus were together, but she hadn't forgotten the way the mudblood used to hang around and taunt Snape with her presence.

"Before we get carried away, they were eleven years old," Narcissa interjected. "Severus had completely forgotten about it, and Evans probably did, too. Aline saw his memory, which prompted him to take the antidote."

There was a pensive, charged silence, then Jacinta said, "So Papa was under a love spell all these years? How horrible! No wonder he couldn't love Mama like she deserved, why he didn't want to get married."

"Jacinta!" Glenna scolded, shaking her head in warning. "I'm very happy to be married to Jack. I love him tremendously!"

"Oh, Daddy, I'm sorry!" Jacinta got up, went around her mother, and draped herself around Jack. "I'm glad you're my dad, I didn't mean—"

"I know, pumpkin," he cooed in her ear. He pulled her onto his lap to hug her tightly. "I know your mother loves me, as well. If that potion is what got your mama to marry me, I can't say I'm sorry for it."

Glenna nudged him with her elbow, smiling radiantly at him. "I can't say I'm sorry, either. I just hope Severus will be as happy with Aline as I am with you."

Lucius leaned over a bit to whisper in Narcissa's ear, "All this affection is making me amorous. How about we wrap it up and…" He wiggled his eyebrows at her and she snickered softly.

"Ah, Lucius, what would I ever do without you?"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Kill him! Rip those nasty grey eyes right out of his head," seethed Griphook, hunched over as he squatted by the small fire beside his two companions. He repeatedly gouged a pointed stick into the dirt where he'd traced a crude face.

"Yeah, kill the wand carrier," Ratell concurred, nodding his overlarge head in agreement. "He's the one that started it all, tattling to the stupid human Ministry about us, got them suspicious. And torturing me and Griphook."

As usual Karnak sat back listening to the rantings of his comrades. Only these two remained, the rest had either been captured when the Mirror was shattered or had subsequently fled upon hearing of it. They were all known, wanted criminals being pursued by aurors, it was only a matter of time before they were all caught.

To make matters worse, 'good' goblins were in league with the wizard filth—turning the criminals over to the authorities, helping to create cells to incarcerate the fugitives so they could not use their magic to escape by shifting and breaking stone, mortar, and earth. Only goblins were able to permanently contain other goblins, save for powerful wizards like Dumbledore or Voldemort, both of whom were gone and good riddance. Okay, maybe those smelly house elves, who were too timid to do anything without groveling to their disgusting wizard masters first. Whatever the case, their days were numbered, but that didn't mean they had to go quietly.

Karnak smiled evilly at his friends, showing his pointed teeth. A little chuckle of glee escaped him before he decreed, "Oh, we'll get revenge on Malfoy. His big mouth started the Ministry hunting us even before that idiot Potter broke our Mirror. He exposed us, and we'll exact retribution. It's only fair."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Mateo and Tonia were flying over the Malfoy estate on their nightly rounds when they both froze as one and hovered in the air. Down below in the cherry section of the orchard they detected the scent and movement of a human. Tonia began to dive when Mateo held her back with a hand on her wrist.

"It's Draco. Don't you smell him?"

Tonia sniffed the air again and got a chagrined look. "_Claro, tienes razon."_ (Yes, you're right). Nonetheless, she had to wonder what the boy would be doing outside like this. Mateo didn't seem to believe the goblins would return, but Tonia had more experience with cutthroat bastards than Mateo did, she understood that until they felt avenged of whatever perceived wrong, they could be very dangerous. "_Mateo, el no debe de estar aqui."_ (Mateo, he shouldn't be here.)

Her husband drifted in close to kiss her nose playfully. "_No te preocupes, hablare con el."_ (Don't worry, I'll talk to him.) The second smooch landed on her lips. Righting himself, he floated downward at a good clip till he neared the ground, at which point he slowed to almost nothing and touched down so lightly he scarcely bent the grass under his feet.

Sensing movement behind him, Draco whirled with his wand drawn. The expression of relief on his face upon seeing the vampire was palpable. "Hi, Mateo."

"Something on your mind, wee nephew?" asked the _sangrista_, grinning so his retracted fangs barely showed. "It's not safe out here."

Draco returned a small smile and a half-hearted shrug. "I'm not so little, Uncle, and I'm tired of being cooped up. I felt like getting out of the house, I…it sounds ridiculous."

"No one will hear it but me."

"Mother and Father were entertaining tonight and it hit me: it seems everyone is getting married or at least has a steady partner except me. Goyle and Pansy, Theo and Jacinta, Bayly and Gloria, even Uncle Severus!" He shook his head in disbelief. "And I heard through the grapevine that the crazy Luna Lovegood has even been propositioned!"

"Are you jealous or merely upset?" Mateo prodded.

"Neither, it's…I like this girl, only I can't ask her out because she's Daphne's sister." He shrugged again, reaching up to bat at a clump of cherries.

"It's been a long time, I doubt Daphne would care by now," Mateo said simply.

Draco peered over at him as the vampire methodically began breaking off short, dead branches from a stumpy tree. "The thing is, Astoria is only seventeen, she still has a year of school left. I'd feel like a cradle robber." He laughed at how silly it sounded when he gave voice to it.

Mateo joined in with his own soft chuckle. "Because you're so old and experienced? Your parents were dating at sixteen, married at eighteen. If you like this girl, you ought to make a move before some other young man does." _Snap, snap, crack._

"Why are you demolishing that dead tree?" Draco finally asked.

"Dry wood makes excellent stakes," Mateo answered amiably. "It's best if I remove the potential offenders and have them burned."

"Or we could tell the gardener to cut it down," Draco smirked.

"That'd work, too." _Snap._ Mateo dropped the chunk of wood and turned to face his nephew. "Come on, let's go back to the house. Tonia's going to have my hide if I let you wander about out here any longer."

"The aurors have captured a lot of the rogue goblins," said Draco. "Do you really think they're still a threat?"

There was a short pause while Mateo considered the question. At last he said, "I don't know, nephew, but Tonia thinks so and she's usually right. I'm just hoping this isn't one of those times."


	64. The Big Bad

Death Eater No More—Chapter Sixty-Four (The Big Bad)

**June 30, 1999**

'Grunt' had been skulking the halls of St. Mungo's for nine long, dreary days, and frankly he was sick of it. Aside from the obvious boredom, he had to make it even worse by spending the majority of his time in the lift located between the two floo openings on ground level. As if _that_ weren't bad enough, he'd been compelled to tame his ordinarily unkempt, unsavory appearance by washing and pulling back his long, dirty-blond hair into a ponytail and by shaving his omnipresent stubble. The price of being inconspicuous didn't come cheap—in fact, it paid rather well, for he'd earned a nice handful of tips as the 'lift operator'.

After dropping off another patient at the floo, he sat back on the stool he'd set in the elevator and kicked his feet out in a stretch; he sure could do with a smoke. But no, he couldn't leave his post. Pregnant women normally had an appointment every month with the medi-witch, the one he waited for had to come sooner or later. What if the uppity bitch never showed up? She was _rich_, for Merlin's sake, surely the doctor or medi-witch would go to her…but maybe not for a check-up. Now for the birth of her brat, the doctor would be there with bells on, you could count on that! No Malfoy witch in history had deigned to pop out a baby in the hospital like everyone else.

"Hurry up, you bloomin' bint," muttered Grunt under his breath.

As if he'd uttered a spell rather than an insulting command, the floo whooshed and Narcissa Malfoy stepped out garbed in a simple blue dress cinched at the waist while she was still able to do so. On her ears and around her neck she wore the matching set of blue teardrop jewels Lucius had given her years ago. She took a moment to collect herself and charm away the soot before proceeding to the lift where Grunt snapped to his feet, his heart suddenly pounding furiously. This was it, here she was! It seemed unreal.

"Level three, please," Narcissa said, barely noticing the man.

"Ugh," responded the wizard, displaying the reason for his nickname. His hand nervously clutching his wand alongside his leg, he shot a stunner that hit the woman in the side. As she fell, Grunt caught her, staggering under the weight exerted on his own poorly conditioned, gaunt frame. He picked her up and ran for the floo, then was gone right before two more people arrived in the lobby.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"You know, early to mid-morning is probably the absolute worst time to find dregs to murder—I mean _execute_," Marshal griped as he and his two companions stalked down a dim alley in London. "Whose bloody stupid idea was it anyway? Nighttime is when they come out like cockroaches—ho, there!" He pulled up so suddenly Rabby ran into him from behind.

"Watch it, Marshal!" snapped Rab.

With a jut of his chin Marshal indicated a pair of ripped, worn shoes poking out from behind an overstuffed trash can. Wrinkling their noses at the lingering odor of garbage and urine, as silent as moths they slinked together over to the body to peer down at a middle-aged man in raggedy clothing, clutching an empty wine bottle, sound asleep.

"This'll work," Marshal piped up cheerily. Reaching to the back pocket of his robes, he withdrew the flask of Polyjuice potion he kept with him at all times now…just in case.

Rabby stayed him with a hand on his arm. "He just looks like a drunk. We agreed to kill _scum_."

"All Muggles are scum!" retorted Marshal, no longer cheery. Sulking, he looked to Dolph, who gave a shrug.

Rabby laid into him with, "It was a Muggle who gave you that new face so you could start a new life! They're not all useless!"

"What're you, a Muggle lover now?" taunted Marshal spitefully.

"Belt up, Marshal!" Dolph took a step forward to shove the wizard in the chest with one hand, knocking him into the brick wall. "We're not here to fight each other, but if you wanna have a go at my brother, you'll go through me."

"I can fight my own battles, Dolph," Jorab reminded him, though to be honest it made him feel loved to see his brother take his part.

Nevertheless, Wendolph reached out and smacked Marshal lightly on the side of the head. "Watch what you say," he warned, giving a hard look that clearly indicated he wasn't joking.

Because he was one against two, Marshal glared at Dolph but made no move to strike back. The pitiful slap hadn't hurt, that wasn't the point! He'd let those ingrates stay with him while their faces healed and until they'd gotten false identity papers; they ought to treat him better! Of course, on the flip side Rabastan had risked his life to break Roddy and Macnair out of Azkaban, and they'd let him stay at the Lestrange property for a time. Okay, they were even…barely.

Rabby had been lecturing while Marshal was busy musing, though to Marshal's misfortune he caught the tail end of it. "…so if we're ever going to change, to become respectable, we can't go murdering innocent people."

"I'm not the one all hopped up on changing," muttered Marshal to no one.

The idea of being a respectable citizen had its appeal, naturally, and since he'd got out of prison he'd not hurt anyone. The fact remained he wanted and needed for Walden Macnair to be dead in the eyes of the wizarding world, and he didn't appreciate having Jorab Goodman riding on his shoulder like a conscience, nagging him about becoming a good citizen. What did Rabby think, that they could wake up one day and be paragons of virtue? If and when they ever made that transition, it was going to be a slow, arduous process, one Marshal wasn't entirely sure he cared to embark on. He was satisfied with his life the way it was, thank you very much.

"I know!" Dolph said abruptly, a grin widening on his face. "I remember Avery telling his son there was a whorehouse around here somewhere—"

"How in blue blazes does talk of not murdering translate to visiting a brothel?" exploded Rabby crossly.

Dolph laid his hands on his brother's shoulders, chuckling. The kid always did jump ahead, didn't he? "Try to focus, Rab. This isn't a place where the birds work because they want to. The blokes running the place kidnap Muggle girls and force them into service. Wouldn't we be doing the _right thing_ to rid the world of that filth and let the women go?" All at once, at the sight of the pain in his brother's eyes, he recalled Varden and wished he could stuff the words back into his mouth, where his foot was presently occupying all the space. Maybe this was a job he and Marshal should have done alone.

To his proud amazement, Rabby straightened up. The younger man steeled himself, his countenance becoming very cold as his fury shoved his reservations to the back of his mind. "Lead the way."

A good hour elapsed while the trio of ex-Death Eaters traipsed about looking for the elusive cathouse. At length Dolph spied the landmark Avery had described to his son—a waist-high yellow pole with a red ball on top situated in front of a bland, grey building that blended in with everything else in the area. All the blinds were drawn, making it impossible to see inside.

"This must be it." He tried the door, only to find it locked. Unlocking spells proved unsuccessful. "We could break a window, or blow the door off its hinges."

"Or we could _knock_," Marshal sniped, heaving a sigh and rolling his eyes. So saying, he pounded fiercely on the wooden door, making it shudder in its frame. If he had one of his axes…

A thin slat of wood slid to the side at eye level, then closed again. A moment later a tired-looking man of small stature in underpants and a wife beater T-shirt threw open the door. "Yeah, what is it?"

"What do you think we're here for?" asked Jorab defiantly.

The man smiled and scratched at the whiskers on his chin. "We're not usually open at this time, but I guess I can rouse a few of the merchandise. We had a busy night." He moved aside and motioned for them to come inside. "What are your preferences?"

Rabby kicked the door shut with his heel as Dolph gripped the brothel owner by the throat and ripped his wand from his hand, using it to cast a silencing bubble around them. Marshal had his own wand out, pointed at an already terrified specimen. With his other hand he presented the flask of Polyjuice potion.

"We're gonna have a nice conversation. Oh, but first we're gonna find a glass and you're gonna drink this," he said in an eerily pleasant tone that made the man quiver.

Looking around the dark room, evident from the sofas and myriad of bottles that this was where the customers waited, Marshal easily located a glass on a sidebar and levitated it into his hand. He poured some of the gloppy liquid into it, plucked a hair from his head, and dropped it in. Then he tilted the concoction up at the man's lips; there was sputtering but no imbibing as the goo ran from the corner of his mouth.

"Dolph, I don't think he can swallow that way," observed Rab.

The older brother adjusted his grip and growled, "Drink it or I'll crush your windpipe and watch you choke to death."

The proprietor swallowed once, then immediately began to cough and retch. Within seconds his body started to transform, getting taller and broader, until he was the image of the old Macnair. The trio gaped openly, somewhat creeped out at seeing Macnair in his now-too-tight underwear, knowing full well they were going to dispose of him. It felt surreal, more so when the man spoke in Macnair's old voice.

"What do you want from me? The money's in the vault—"

"Shut it," said Rabby in a low, menacing tone as he circled the man. "This is a Muggle-stocked whorehouse, isn't it?" He waited for the confused nod. "That makes you a serial rapist and kidnapper at the very least. The penalty for that is death."

"I don't bring the girls in, that's Trenton!" howled the wizard. "Are you aurors? You can't kill me, it's against the law!"

Dolph leaned in to whisper, "We're not aurors." It made the proprietor literally quake.

Getting to the practical matter, Marshal asked, "Where is this Trenton?"

"Asleep upstairs—I'll go get him."

He got exactly one step before Dolph jerked him back by the hair. "Are there any other men involved in this—_business_—of yours?"

The fellow shook his head vigorously. Since Benny had got himself murdered by an irate husband last year, it had just been the two of them. It cut into profits too much to spread it around among a bunch of people. Besides, they were only Muggle birds, very easy to control with spells and wards, they had no magic to resist. They didn't need any more than the two wizards to keep them behaving. "Please let me go."

"I'll bet those girls say that, don't they?" hissed Rabby. He could scarcely keep from physically attacking the puke. As the man squirmed in Dolph's grasp, he removed his wand. "We're here to see justice done. Marshal, do you want him?"

"Nah, you do it," responded Marshal, even now enthralled at the sight of himself in his friend's meaty hands. Those briefs looked to be pinching his delicate area, they were definitely too snug. "It would be too weird to kill myself…without committing suicide, I mean."

Rabby aimed his wand and uttered the Unforgivable Curse. The fake Macnair slumped to the ground, eyes open, arms thrown wide, mouth getting ready for the scream that never cleared his throat. As much as Rab would like to say he was sorry for this death, the stone cold fact was the scoundrel deserved it. To let him live to destroy more lives would have been a far greater evil. At the same time, a niggling of fear gnawed at his brain: at what point would he irreparably damage his soul? He'd killed many times over the years, he only hoped it wasn't already too late.

"That is the last human life I take," he said softly, slipping his wand into his pocket.

"What about self-defense—or to save somebody?" Dolph posed.

"I know loads of curses that would effectively stop someone," said Rab dryly. "You taught me a lot of them."

"If you two are done chatting, let's snuff that Trenton filth, free the girls, and get the hell out of here," urged Marshal. Looking at himself sprawled on the rug was just too bizarre. He checked for any jewelry that could be used as an identifier, swiped his wand over the corpse to clean up the mouth, then _scourgified_ the glass as he headed for the staircase. On the way out he'd _scourgify_ it again, get rid of the evidence. "Give me a hair, Rab."

"Wait," Dolph ordered. "We'll have to anonymously notify the aurors to come check this place out. When they find Rabby and Macnair here, they're gonna wonder where I am."

"I'll kill you later, I promise," Marshal snapped. "Let's move!"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Aline glanced up from the potion she'd been observing with Severus as Bayly learned to make Wolfsbane. She hesitated to call it 'supervising' since Severus was technically the one training the youth, but Bayly seemed happy with input from both of them, and to date Severus hadn't objected.

"Hermione! I thought you'd left."

The younger witch moped in and flopped onto a stool beside Bayly, who offered a brief greeting and went immediately back to his work. This was a critical stage in the formula…as were they all, he corrected himself internally. Any slip-up would cause the Wolfsbane to fail.

"I needed to talk to someone who'd understand. Yesterday I went home, where an owl message was waiting for me," Hermione explained gloomily. "When I was accepted for a position at the Ministry I was so thrilled—"

"And we were thrilled for you. Now please run along, Mr. Young is working," Snape drawled. It wasn't a lie, he'd practically danced in his quarters when he learned the know-it-all had procured alternate employment. Why she'd bothered to stay for a week after school let out for the year remained a mystery. Her leaving would entail more work for him in finding a suitable replacement, a task he was willing to endure if it meant never seeing Miss Granger again.

Hermione scowled at him and turned her back, but she didn't budge. "The Ministry is assigning me as a liaison to _Bulgaria_! Can you believe that? I'm brand new, have no experience, and I don't even speak Bulgarian!"

"That is very odd," Aline concurred, knitting her brows. "Have you asked them why?"

"Oh, yes." Hermione's eyes narrowed, her mouth pinched tight. "I apparently have glowing references that qualify me for such duty. Ron's brother Percy works at the Ministry, he's got some connections. When the last liaison retired, Percy put my name in for the position out of spite because I broke up with Ron. He's hoping to keep me away from Ron, and I'm sure he's hoping I'll fail miserably. I'll be traveling a great deal; I have to leave tomorrow for a meeting with the Bulgarian Minister."

"Can't you just refuse the job?"

"I don't dare, they might think I'm uncooperative and refuse me any position at all!" wailed Hermione. "Then I'd have to come back here to teach."

Severus froze in his spot, aghast. Up to now the conversation held no appeal, but when it involved Granger anywhere near him and the school, all bets were off.

"It might be fun," Aline offered, trying to make the best of it. "New horizons, new people…"

"Might I reiterate, I don't speak the language," Hermione repeated glumly.

"Oh, for crying out loud, Miss Granger!" Snape exclaimed. "If that humongous brain of yours doesn't permit you to become fluent in a year's time, you've got more serious problems than an old boyfriend's brother's revenge! Not that I need to mention—forgive me, evidently I do need to—the Bulgarian Minister speaks English! His cabinet may prove more challenging, but if there is one thing Gryffindors excel at, it's taking on a challenge."

He stopped and crossed his arms for a more complete, effective glower, only with the witch turned so she couldn't see him, it proved a waste of good effort. If there was one thing he missed about school during summer holiday, it was the lack of cowering brats to appreciate his intimidating presence.

Hermione twisted round on her stool, her face a mixture of surprise and admiration. "Thank you, Professor. You're right, I can learn the language, and if Ron or Percy or anyone else thinks they can ruin my life, they had better think again! I'd better go home and pack. I'll have to say goodbye now."

"Have a good trip, Hermione," said Aline, embracing the young woman. "Come back and see us." She dodged a scathing what-the-hell-are-you-saying look from Severus.

"Goodbye, Miss Granger. Best of luck," Snape intoned, startlingly not for Aline's benefit or to avoid a discussion on not alienating colleagues or some such drivel. It was conventional to utter such things, and the joy of seeing Hermione go simply overwhelmed him.

After Hermione flounced from the room, Aline smirked over at her fiancé. "My, my, I learn more about you every day. I had no idea you were such a motivational speaker."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Mr. Young, have you nothing better to do than listen to inane conversation? If you think I'm going to explain the mechanics of this potion again, you are sadly mistaken."

Bayly hurriedly shifted his gaze back to the bubbling brew. "Sorry, sir, I…it won't happen again." From the corner of his eye he noted Professor Conn take the man's hand and Professor Snape look down gently at her with a more tender expression than he'd believed the wizard capable of. Ducking his head, he hid the smile twitching at his lips.

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The wizard carrying Narcissa stumbled out of the fireplace into a dank, grimy pub. Being morning, the place was deserted. He dropped the witch unceremoniously onto the wooden floor where she lay still from his stun spell.

"I've got her! Hey, you little monsters, where are you?" he called out.

From the back room three goblins traipsed out in a row, and each of themupon spying Narcissa made an extremely pleased, high pitched squeal. They ran over to surround the woman and knelt in a triangle round her with Griphook at her head and the other two near her hips. Quickly they rolled her face up and straightened out her limbs.

"It's her," Griphook said, nodding sagely. "We'll do it now, while she's unable to fight."

He placed one brown, clawed hand in the center of Narcissa's body right below the ribcage. Karnak put his hand overtop Griphook's, and Ratell's hand went on top.

"What're you doin'? I thought you was goin' to torture her," commented Grunt.

The goblins ignored him. Their voices rose in a strange hum like a small hive of bees, then all at once they began chanting:

_Efil rofdes ruc_ (cursed for life)

_Taed ibdes ruc_ (cursed by death)

_Ek awa otre ven_ (never to awake)

_Rewop ro ni ojew_ (we join our powers)

_Regnorts gni worg _(growing stronger)

_Ekas segnever rof_ (for revenge's sake)

_Oy nopuh taed fope els _(sleep of death upon you)

_Oy nopuh taed fope els_ (sleep of death upon you)

_Oy nopuh taed fope els _(sleep of death upon you)

Just when Grunt thought they had finished, Griphook alone recited the first line, then Karnak the second, and Ratell the third. They alternated thus until the entire chant had been accomplished again, at which time they all crowed together, "_Eno deb titel. Erga erht ew."_ (The three of us agree. Let it be done.)

Seemingly both weary and surprisingly enlivened by their activity, the goblins pulled back and got up. Grunt bent over the stiff, unmoving body to snatch her earrings and necklace, to tug off her wedding ring, all of which he carried behind the bar, opened a battered wooden box the size of his shoe, and dropped them inside.

"I made good on my part of the bargain," he stated, rounding the bar. "Now I want the spoils you promised."

Half a second later a knife was lodged in his gut. "Here is the dagger I showed you," said Karnak, smiling maliciously. He pulled the weapon out and wiped it on the human's shirt.

Grunt fell to his knees gasping and holding his stomach where the blood ran freely between his fingers.

"And here's the sword." Ratell lifted a long, heavy sword and swung it in a hard arc that neatly sliced the man's head from his body. It bounced once and rolled over to crash into the bar where it set staring grotesquely.

Griphook took in the scene dispassionately. It was only a wand carrier, and a devious one at that. "Let's go, we need to get her out of here." Working together, they dragged Narcissa into the back room, removed a panel from the floor, and hauled her into the tunnel they'd dug just for this purpose.


	65. Heart of Darkness

Death Eater No More—Chapter Sixty-Five (Heart of Darkness)

(**A/N**: I regret that I have been forced to block anonymous reviews due to the malicious harassment of one deranged individual. I encourage those who have not signed in as members to do so, it only takes a few minutes, is free, and allows authors to communicate with you as well.)

**June 30, 1999**

"Draco, have you seen your mother?" Lucius came to a halt beside the leather sofa in the main sitting room where his elder son lounged, legs carelessly thrown over one armrest. The man shifted a sleepy Ladon from one shoulder to the other and the baby mewled a soft protest. He'd fed the child, changed him, and burped him—necessitating that Lucius change his own robes when the tyke spit up profusely all down his back. After that enchanting exchange, he'd been treated to a full hour of a squalling infant intent on summoning his mother, until the poor mite had exhausted himself and finally settled down.

Draco looked up from his book _Ancient Warfare and Warlocks_. "No, Father. I haven't seen her since breakfast."

"She hasn't come back through the floo," Abraxas commented from his portrait situated directly above. "And I doubt she'd apparate home. She knows it poses a risk to the unborn child."

His grey eyes met the identical ones in Lucius' face, and the latter nodded. He didn't need the words to understand what his sire was saying. "I'll go see what's taking her so long." He hesitated to mention a 'problem' because he feared that vocalizing his concern might somehow precipitate it, and he didn't want to worry Draco. "Son, you'll have to watch your brother until we get back. Have Sisidy set up his crib wherever you're going to be."

"Alright, I will." Draco lifted Ladon into the crook of his arm; the baby snuggled up as he laid his head on his brother and closed his eyes again. Smiling down, Draco seated himself with his back against the sofa arm and his feet up on the couch. Ladon lay secure, sprawled on his chest with his rear end bumping on the couch back. Draco drew up his legs and spread the book on his lap. "We'll be okay like this for now."

"Thank you, son," Lucius murmured, basking in the sight. If he weren't so distracted about Narcissa, he'd have thought to take a photograph. Holding out his hand, he snapped his fingers for his cane and stepped into the fireplace.

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"Her appointment was two hours ago!" Lucius growled at the receptionist in the obstetrics department of St. Mungo's, his cane impatiently banging the floor in emphasis. "I saw her leave the house."

"And she didn't show up here, I've told you three times," insisted the witch manning the desk, which had a clear view of the entrance. "I haven't left my station at all. If she came, I would know." Feeling pity for the man who looked so lost, she suggested, "Have you asked the security personnel downstairs? Maybe they saw her."

"I'll do that, thank you," clipped Lucius.

He spun on his heel and strode out, his heart in his throat. Narcissa hadn't shown up for her appointment, that wasn't like her. There'd been no trace of her in the lobby or stairwell…he'd thought he smelled the lingering fragrance of her lavender soap in the lift, but for all he knew he was imagining it out of desperation.

It took Lucius five minutes of actively searching the first floor until he came across a security guard; the wizard happened to be wandering the aisles of the on-site pharmacy/potion shop. Clenching his teeth so hard his jaw hurt, Lucius approached the man, stopped in front of him, and coldly appraised him up and down.

"Can I help you?" the man finally asked.

The tip of Malfoy's cane hurled forward, then slowed to tap the wizard's name tag hard enough to jar his shoulder. "Oaf Atkinson, is it?"

"Olaf," the guard corrected him, looking flustered.

"Are you not supposed to be on duty?" demanded Lucius.

"I _am_ on duty, I'm patrolling," replied Olaf defensively.

"Really?" crooned Malfoy, waving the cane in a wide arc to gesture at the rows of formulas and medical accessories. "Do you anticipate a rebellion of the arthritic remedies? Why are you not patrolling the _lobby_ where those of unsavory character may gain entrance to the facility?"

Olaf wisely chose not to overtly lump the fellow in front of him into that category, lest he end up with lumps on his skull. "Mr. Malfoy, what do you want?"

"I want my _wife_!" Lucius seethed. "She came here over two hours ago, yet no one in this abode of incompetence seems to have any idea where she is!"

The guard shrugged, allowing his innate lack of astuteness to glare through. "Then I guess she isn't here. Maybe she changed her mind and went shopping. I hear women like that."

It took a vast will not to physically attack the cretin on the spot, despite the fact that Lucius nearly popped a blood vessel from indignation and ire. In an icy calm voice pitched low so the potions attendant wouldn't overhear, he said, "Our child comes first to my wife, you blithering Neanderthal. She would not skip her appointment to purchase shoes! I will find Narcissa, and if she is fine I'll see to it that you lose your job. If any harm comes to her because of your negligence, I'll have your head on a platter."

He whirled and stalked off, anger once more giving way to fear. Where to begin looking? He'd call upon Severus to help him and leave Draco at home in case Narcissa returned from wherever she was. As a last resort, he'd notify the Ministry to plead for any assistance they might offer…he didn't hold out much hope that they'd try overly hard to aid any Malfoy, pregnant or not.

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**July 1, 1999**

**8:17 a.m.**

Wallace Marshal woke up to a wonderful new day. Those blasted _Goodman_ brothers were no longer living in his flat with their damned gang-up-on-Macnair…er, Marshal attitude, he had a job he thoroughly enjoyed, and he was now officially dead as far as the Ministry was concerned…assuming they'd found the body, and they should have since the trio of ex-Death Eaters had taken care to anonymously notify the aurors of a double murder.

He hurried to the door, flung it open, and glanced down the hall. Good, someone hadn't yet picked up their newspaper! He levitated it into his hand to scan the headlines, and his jaw dropped.

_Narcissa Malfoy Missing_

For a second he was too shocked to go on, but as he read the article he felt a strange, gnawing sensation in his stomach. Pity…empathy. He liked Narcissa, and Lucius had done so much to help him, even if he did bring it up on a regular basis while telling Marshal to keep his distance from the Malfoy family in the event someone may figure out who he is and arrest the lot of them. Where was he again? Oh, yes—Narcissa.

Directly below the flashing headline and story he took brief notice of the headline he'd hoped to see:

_Death Eaters Rabastan Lestrange and Walden Macnair Found Murdered in Brothel_

He could have done without the whorehouse reference, it made him appear tawdry—no, made _Macnair_ appear tawdry. _Marshal_ had no truck with him. Accompanying the article were pictures of the two dead men looking exactly as the Death Eaters looked before their surgery. He'd thought it would make him happier, only the previous news precluded that.

Chucking the _Prophet_ in the general direction of where he'd borrowed it from, he ducked back into his flat to get dressed. He needed to go to Lucius, see what he could do. For the very first time since he was a boy, he offered a prayer for someone other than himself.

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**8:20 a.m.**

Callem tiptoed round the blood-tainted beams where his accomplice Grunt had been decapitated yesterday by the goblins. He'd not been there when it occurred, like he told the aurors, and it could have been done by any number of people with a grudge. Grunt had enemies, who didn't? Despite his protestations, he knew good and well the goblins had done it, but to implicate them was to admit he had some business with them. After the aurors had taken the body away, Callem tried everything he knew to clean up the blood, to no avail. Even a round of _scourgify_s couldn't remove the stain soaked into the wood.

He rounded the bar, lifted out the battered box nestled underneath, and removed the lid with a smile. Picking up one of Narcissa's blue teardrop earrings, he examined it carefully as he held it up to the light. Exquisite quality, it would fetch an enormous sum from his fence in Knockturn Alley. And the wedding band—it must have cost a fortune! But those Malfoys could well afford it, couldn't they? And it wasn't like the witch would be needing it! He chuckled and dropped the jewelry into his pocket. Time to make a trip to see Aldo in Knockturn Alley.

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**8:45 a.m.**

When Marshal arrived at Malfoy Manor, an elf showed him to the front parlor. The shades were drawn, the light very dim. He was a bit surprised to see Dolph and Rab, Snape, and even Nott sitting around in an anguished hush. To his dismay, that awful blond vampire who'd caught him in the orchard when he escaped from Azkaban was there as well, standing in the corner. Keeping an eye on the _sangrista_, he walked over to Lucius.

"Lucius, I read in the paper…is there anything I can do?"

The man looked up at him from the chair he was slumped in. His face was drawn and exhausted, his eyes sporting dark circles, and Marshal could swear the red rims indicated he'd been crying. "Thank you for coming. Severus and I have looked all day and night for Narcissa. I've sent messages to all my acquaintances. Mateo and his vampires searched all night as well." His voice sounded rough, weary.

"We haven't any clues," Severus added. "We're out of ideas."

A single thought drifted through each person's mind: if it were a simple kidnapping, Lucius would have received ransom demands by now. Since that had not happened, one had to assume Narcissa had fled of her own volition, was being held for other purposes, or was dead. A collective shudder ran through the men at that. Narcissa adored Lucius and her children, nothing could compel her to abandon them…which left the other, more vile options.

"Master Malfoy! Master Malfoy!" Sisidy screamed, running so fast she practically flew into the room. "A wizard is wanting to see Master, he has Mistress Malfoy's necklace!"

Every wizard in the room jumped to his feet and bolted out behind Lucius. Malfoy's wand was drawn and aimed at the spot between the intruder's eyes the instant the door swung open. The scruffy man gulped and raised his hands in surrender, Narcissa's necklace dangling from his fingers.

Lucius snatched the necklace, studied it briefly, and slipped it into his pocket. In a voice choked with fury he spat, "Where is my wife?"

"I—I—I don't know, Mr. Malfoy," stammered the other. In retrospect, maybe he ought to have gone with his first instinct and sent an owl. "A bloke came by just a few minutes ago to pawn these. I've seen pictures of Mrs. Malfoy, I recognized them as belonging to your wife. I came right over to tell you."

"These?" repeated Lucius, his wand not wavering.

"The earrings and ring," answered Aldo, pointing gingerly down at his breast pocket.

Lucius fished them out, scarcely holding back a sob at the wedding ring Narcissa had worn since she was eighteen. "Where did you get them?"

"Callem. That's all I know except he has a pub in London—and a man was killed there yesterday! Head cut clean off!" Aldo's arms remained high over his head, his glance rapidly shifting from one irate face to another.

"_Accio, Daily Prophet_," Snape said. He caught the paper that had been set at the unused breakfast table. Quickly he skimmed headlines and articles, then suddenly on page three he paused. "It's here, Lucius." He handed the paper to his friend. As Malfoy's wand lowered, five others rose.

Lucius read the article over. A pub owner in London named Callem discovered a dead man, decapitated… "You could have read this and now you're trying to pass the blame onto this _Callem_ while looking for a reward for returning jewels you stole. You could have my wife hostage!"

"I don't! I'm not trying—okay, I was hoping you'd pay for the information, but I had nothing to do with any of it!" protested Aldo in terror.

"Severus." Lucius cocked his head at Aldo.

Snape lowered his wand, stepped in, and gazed into the man's eyes with his Legilimens touch. No more than a minute later he released Aldo and moved back. "He's telling the truth."

"Um, Lucius?" Nott piped up. "It's probably not a good thing that he saw me here. I may be officially dead, but surely he's seen all those wanted posters."

"He also knows that _we_ know about Callem," added Dolph, the implication being that if Callem were to 'mysteriously' turn up dead, Aldo might be able to offer suggestions as to the responsible parties.

"Not a problem," murmured Lucius, raising his wand again.

"No, don't kill me!" shrieked Aldo.

"_Obliviate_." Lucius lowered his wand and waved the others away out of sight. While Aldo still reeled under the spell, Lucius ordered Sisidy, "Take him and leave him in Knockturn Alley." A moment later the man was gone. "Gentlemen, I believe we have a call to make in London."

"Father?"

The group of men turned to see Draco standing forlornly cradling his brother in one arm as Ladon squirmed and struggled to escape, flinging himself backward so hard Draco had to throw his other arm around the tot. The older boy looked every bit as tired and worried as his father.

"I want to go, too. She's my mother," he said in a choked voice.

All eyes swiveled over to the elder Malfoy. At Draco's age, most of them had been Death Eaters bound to Voldemort's perverse service; the request to search for his mother didn't seem so outrageous.

"No, son." Before Draco could object, Lucius held up a hand to stop him. "I won't treat you like a child, you deserve better than that. The truth of the matter is there may be an execution, or a deathly battle. I don't want you to be a part of it." As difficult as it was, he forced himself to say, "We don't know if we'll find your mother…or in what condition if we do."

The unmitigated horror in Draco's face mirrored the feeling in Lucius' soul. He'd only been honest, he could be no less now. He couldn't bear to lose Narcissa—but more than that he couldn't bear it if Draco witnessed a potentially gruesome scene involving his mother. "Stay here, take care of Ladon. He needs you right now. _I_ need you to do this."

Slowly Draco nodded, biting his lip to hold back the tears threatening to burst forth. He hadn't slept a wink all night, his mother was missing and possibly hurt or worse, his father was on the hunt for her and would crush anyone who stood in his way. What had happened to their dream of being a nice, normal family after the war?

Lucius moved closer and leaned in to kiss Ladon's cheek, to lovingly stroke the downy fine hair of his head, then he gave Draco's shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

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**9:06 a.m.**

Under the disguise of glamour charms lest anyone be about, the gang of ex-Death Eaters apparated within meters of each other outside the dingy pub listed in the newspaper as not only belonging to Callem, but as being his residence. From the look of it the place hadn't been opened for the day, and the door located in a grimy alley was locked. Lucius blew it off its hinges and marched inside before the swirling dust had even settled, his companions flanking him.

With Nott and Marshal standing guard at the door, Rab and Dolph approached the back room cautiously, leaving Lucius and Severus to advance through the maze of tiny, sticky tables and spindly chairs. When they reached the bar, they found no one hiding behind it. Severus turned his eyes toward the ceiling and jerked his head slightly in gesture. If the scum lived here, he was probably upstairs.

A rickety staircase along the wall being the only visible means of getting there, the four wizards slid back into the stealth of the old days, slinking up quietly as if the earlier explosion had gone unnoticed. When Lucius' head popped over the banister, a spell shot by so close it singed his hair. He returned a stream of curses, with Snape leaping up beside him to join in the fray. In less than ten seconds Callem was slashed, burned, bruised, and _petrified_—none of the injuries meant to be life-threatening, for he remained their sole source of information at present.

"Dolph, perhaps you can go downstairs and fix the door," Severus suggested. "We don't need anyone becoming suspicious if they happen by."

Wendolph assessed the situation, deemed his presence unnecessary, and turned around on the stairs, dragging his brother with him. If Malfoy or Snape decided 'persuasion' was in order, Rabby might not take it well…it was hard to gauge anymore with his new attitude and all.

Lucius walked over to the man _petrified_ on the floor. He felt no pity or remorse for the wounds, only a raging fury that made it almost impossible to speak. Snape followed him over, casually casting a silencing charm to encompass the upstairs room as he did so. They both looked down at the wizard, then all at once Lucius delivered a fierce kick to the side of the head.

"You want him to be able to speak, don't you?" asked Severus evenly. He removed the _petrificus totalus_ and the man began to moan and wail.

"Shut your filthy mouth," Lucius growled, coming down on one knee in order to thrust Narcissa's necklace into Callem's face, observing how Callem's eyes grew to the size of golf balls. He'd seen it before, that was certain. "You sold my wife's jewelry—"

"No, I didn't! It wasn't me—"

Wrong thing to do. In one movement Lucius knelt on Callem's arm, grabbed one of his fingers, and wrenched it backward. It snapped half a second before Callem screamed. "Do _not_ lie to me, you despicable excuse for a human being! Where. Is. My. Wife?"

"I don't know! I—" Another bellowed scream as a second digit cracked like a pretzel at an angle not intended for fingers to bend in. "They took her—yesterday!"

"_Who_ took her?" demanded Lucius.

"The—the goblins!" wailed Callem.

Dumbstruck, Malfoy and Snape exchanged puzzled glances. _Goblins_?

"Why would goblins take Narcissa? Was…was she alive?" asked Lucius, afraid to even hear the answer.

"As far as I know she was," whined Callem, trying to sit up and being pushed back by Snape's boot on his chest. "They hate you, they wanted you to pay for telling the Ministry what they were up to, the stealing and killing."

"And how do you fit into this picture?" drawled Severus, keeping his foot firmly planted.

There was a calculating pause. If Callem admitted his part, they'd murder him for sure, but if he could make them believe he'd been an innocent bystander… "My—my friend Grunt, he made a deal with some goblins. He was to hide in the lift at the hospital and kidnap the witch. He was to bring her here, they'd let him have her jewelry and some swords and stuff they promised, only the goblins butchered him instead. It wasn't my fault, I didn't do anything—"

"You knew," said Lucius coldly. "You knew about the plot and you let it happen, you could have warned me." _Snap_ went another finger, followed by more shrieks.

"They'd have killed me, too," moaned Callem. At the moment he wasn't entirely sure if he'd prefer to have the goblins do it. Malfoy evidently intended to torture him first.

"Where did they take her?"

"I don't know."

This time Lucius surprised him with a punch to the nose, then a whole volley of blows to the face and body. At last, panting, he drew back and motioned for Severus, who knelt down, took Callem's face in one hand, and peered deep into the agony-filled eyes.

"He's lying, Lucius. The goblins approached _him_ with their idea, _he_ recruited Grunt—the one who was decapitated, presumably by the goblins. The rest is the truth. He doesn't know where they took Narcissa." Severus sat back on his heels, lips pinched in a thin line, a feeling of despair yearning to break free. They were right back where they started with no idea where to look or what to do next.

Malfoy leaned in, his breath hot on Callem's puffy cheek. "I ought to kill you right now." The tip of his wand dug into the tender skin.

"Lucius, don't," Severus advised, gently laying a hand on his arm. "You've never killed anyone, Narcissa wouldn't want you to start now. Either let me do it, or hand him over to the aurors to tell what he knows. Let him suffer in Azkaban, he deserves to suffer."

"I can make him suffer." Marshal stood at the top of the stairs watching the scene, his arms folded over his chest. "If you insist, I'll call the aurors when I'm finished. It's up to you, Lucius."

Without a word Malfoy got to his feet, delivered a powerful stomp on Callem's ribs, and stalked past Marshal and down the staircase. Severus stood up and regarded the other ex-Death Eater carefully. Marshal was known to be thorough at torture, and he didn't mind causing death if he felt it justified. From the expression on his face, he'd heard a good portion of the conversation, and Severus would be immensely surprised if Marshal didn't find this particular case justifiable.

"I'll send the others back to Malfoy Manor," Snape said as he skirted the man to reach the stairs. "From there we'll figure out the next step."

"Leave Dolph to watch the door," Marshal instructed to Snape's fleeing back. "Wouldn't want to be interrupted."

He turned to the moaning wizard lying on the floor, his face swollen and bloody, one eye blackened, his fingers at bizarre angles. He sauntered up to tower over the cowering fellow and hissed, "So you helped kidnap Narcissa. I like Narcissa, she's a good woman. She's got a baby who needs her at home and she's pregnant, but scum like you don't care about that, do they? That's why people like me have to even the score." Drawing a long knife from the sheath attached to his calf beneath his pantleg, Marshal traced a finger along the blade. "We can do this the painful way or—oh, who am I kidding. There's only the painful way."

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**10:52 a.m.**

Marshal heaved a martyred sigh. "I didn't _kill_ him, he died while I was cutting him. _Not_ the same thing." He scowled at Snape. As if that snarky git hadn't been hoping he'd dispatch the filth!

Wendolph took a couple of steps back to blend into the rest of the prattling crew, who all seemed to harbor a desire to weigh in on Marshal's 'mishap'. He didn't want Rabby to associate Callem's death with him, he'd only been the lookout, after all. The clamor had begun to rise when it was abruptly squelched.

"Shut up! I don't give a f—k if that shit stain is dead!" bellowed Lucius, rendering the entire group mute. It wasn't like Malfoy to swear like that, though given the provocation no one would dare bring it up. "I don't care! All I care about is getting Narcissa back!"

Dolph hesitated, wondering if he ought to ask since no one else looked primed to do so. "What's the plan?"

Icy, suffocating silence. Then it dawned on him—there was no plan, no direction. How were they supposed to find Narcissa without a plan?

At last Lucius murmured, "We have to find out where they took her. Find any goblins you can, make them talk in any way necessary."

"Lucius, be reasonable," Severus cautioned, eyeing their companions. He hated being the conscience of his friend, but Lucius wasn't thinking clearly. "If we torture or kill innocent goblins, it may create a backlash and you'll have more enemies targeting you."

"Let them! I'm not afraid of the cowardly beasts!" Lucius spat.

"They won't go after _you_, they'll set their sights on your sons!"

Another round of glacial silence while Lucius digested that notion. Ladon was as safe as any child could be, surrounded by his father and brother, devoted house elves, and a cellar full of pissed off vampires. Draco, on the other hand, could not be forced to stay at the manor all the time, he had a right to a life that involved leaving, going where he pleased. It made him vulnerable. "You're right, Severus. What about those goblins the Potter brat and his friends captured in that burned out building? They may have an idea where the others are hiding."

"I'll go to the Ministry right away, tell them we suspect goblin involvement," Snape answered, heading for the floo. "Surely they've questioned them already and have checked their hideaways, but they may allow us access to the creatures or to the information." If worst came to worst, for his best friend and for Narcissa he'd even do the unthinkable—he'd nicely ask Potter to talk to the Minister himself…even beg if the wretch made him. One way or another they'd get the information they needed to save the witch, pride be damned.

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**July 1, 1999**

**9:15 p.m.**

It had to be tonight. Word had gotten back to Griphook and Karnak that the meddlesome wand carriers had been interrogating their brethren in prison, no doubt demanding to know where their comrades were holed up. It would do them no good, the goblins hadn't gone near any of the old haunts, but nevertheless the noose was tightening. They had to do it now.

The location of the Ministry of Magic underground (aside from a few extra-reinforced stories of supposed 'office buildings' at Muggle level) made for perfect goblin entry, tunneling being most expedient to the beasts. Level Nine, which contained the Department of Mysteries, lay nearest the surface, making it a fairly easy dig from Callem's pub…lengthy, yet uncomplicated save for Muggle lines of various kinds.

Combining their magic energy, the trio of goblins summarily shattered and shoved aside one huge stone of the wall piece by piece until the hole was large enough. Karnak's head popped through into a dimly lit rectangular room; he was so close to the uppermost stone bench he reached down and touched it as he grinned wickedly.

"_Nireh yrac tisi siht."_ (This is it, bring her in.)

Griphook struggled through the hole, turned around, and laid hold of Narcissa by the armpits. He proceeded to drag and pull with Karnak lending a hand as Ratell pushed futilely on the soles of her feet. At last she flopped out to land like a beached fish on the bench.

Karnak pointed down about twenty feet to the middle of the room where an ancient, crumbling stone archway with a tattered black veil stood on a raised dais. "We're almost there. I wish Malfoy was here to see this."

Ratell giggled maliciously. "It is too bad. At least he'll hear about it."

The others looked oddly at him, then shaking their heads at his weirdness they heaved up the body once more. Laboriously they carried Narcissa down the tiered steps, across the open floor, and lugged her up onto the dais where the whispering of the dead could be heard. Panting as if they'd run for miles, they bent over to catch their breath—all except Ratell, who hopped down and began to scurry up the steps toward their tunnel.

"Where are you going?" snarled Griphook, frowning. "We're not done." He and Karnak gripped Narcissa by arms and legs, lifting her up.

"The humans have an alert system, stupid!" Ratell was nearly at the top of the steep stairs now, he had to call his answer back. "When someone gets too close to the Veil, aurors get sent to check it out." With that he darted into the tunnel.

None too soon, for the door at the top of the chamber burst open. "Stop what you're doing!" a voice shouted.

Squealing with panic, Karnak and Griphook thrust the human toward the arch, managing only to shove half her body through. She lay sagging over the threshold, neither in nor out.

"You there! Drop her!" the auror yelled, sending a spell that struck Griphook and sent him flying off the platform.

Karnak bent over and shoved for all he was worth, throwing his entire weight into pitching Narcissa's feet into the archway. As a second stunning spell toppled him from the dais, Narcissa slipped slowly through the Veil and was gone.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Sirius wandered over to the Veil when he heard of an incoming individual. He liked to greet people, see if he knew them, or pick on them if he happened to know and dislike them. This one was different, everyone was gathered around staring down at a woman in a blue dress. Why was she lying there? He pushed through the crowd, knelt down, and rolled her over. If his heart still beat, it would have skipped a few. Narcissa!

"Hey, cousin, get up!"

She didn't move, she looked…well, dead. Only on this side of the Veil, dead people moved about freely, they didn't lie about like lumps. What was wrong with her?

"Narcissa, you're embarrassing yourself and me. Get up!"

A ripple in the crowd and a rushing of many people from the scene indicated something was up. He turned and rolled his eyes at the sight of another cousin headed his way, sauntering along swaying her hips. "Aw, crap, now you're in for it. Here comes Bella."


	66. Depths of Despair

Death Eater No More—Chapter Sixty-Six (Depths of Despair)

**July 1, 1999**

It took more than mere trespassing violations to bring the Minister of Magic to an interrogation; two goblins caught casting a human woman through the veiled archway in the Department of Mysteries most assuredly qualified. Dressed conservatively (for Shacklebolt) in dark blue slacks, an orange paisley print tunic, and a plain camel hued outer robe, Kingsley bent his very tall frame and placed a palm on the table, coming nose to pointy nose in order to face down the goblin cowering—yet strangely defiant—before him.

"Griphook, is it?" boomed the wizard.

"Yes."

"My auror tells me you and Karnak murdered a woman. Care to explain?"

"Not really," retorted Griphook, straightening in his chair, feet dangling over the edge, smirking. He turned a sour visage to the petite, smooth-faced young goblin who'd been brought in with Kingsley as an interpreter. "What's _he_ here for?"

"I'm a translator," the other shot back, narrowing his eyes. "_Dne herp moc tonod oy dne terpot plehton liw ti."_ (So it won't help to pretend you don't understand.)

"_Ekil e rom roti arta,"_ (A traitor, you mean) snarled Griphook fiercely.

The tiny goblin lunged over the table in an attempt to throttle Griphook. With one huge hand Shacklebolt snatched him by the collar and dragged him back. "If you can't control yourself, Elkamar, I'll have to ask for another interpreter."

"Sorry, Minister, he…I'll behave," responded the creature, pouting slightly. He skulked along the table and crawled up onto the chair at the end. It was stupid ingrates like Griphook that made wizards look down on goblins, made them prejudiced against them. Now the goblin community would suffer even more from this jerk's actions!

Shacklebolt pulled out a chair across the table from the prisoner and lowered himself slowly. His aurors had already done a preliminary interrogation of the two captured in the Veil room, both of whom were refusing to cooperate. Needless to say, he was not in a good mood. "Tell me now who it was you pushed through the Veil, or I'll be forced to take stronger measures to get you to talk."

That caused Griphook to erupt in a belly laugh. Stronger measures? The Ministry of Magic didn't permit torture, and goblins were immune to Veritaserum, the bane of wizards. "You can't prove I did anything."

"My auror's memory has been stored in a vial to be viewed in the pensieve," said Kingsley levelly. "That's proof enough."

"_Drats abgums oy,"_ (You smug son of a bitch) crooned Elkamar as the corners of his mouth tipped upward with a sudden idea. "_Ecalp Malfoy eht otni e korb oy lacer tonod yeht knit oy?"_ (Do you think they don't remember you broke into the Malfoy house?)

The expression on Griphook's face turned grim, his beady eyes flicked to the other goblin. "_Tifo taw?" _(What about it?)

"_Shacklebolt oy eestoni Malfoy tel yawakol tim,"_ (Shacklebolt might turn a blind eye, let Malfoy in to see you) grinned Elkamar, evidently enjoying the abject look of terror.

"Elkamar, what are you saying to him?" asked Kingsley. The raw, unadulterated fear emanating from the goblin could have been spotted a mile off.

The young goblin blinked innocently, replying, "Nothing but the truth. I suggested nicely to him that he cooperate with your questions." His head twisted over to Griphook, his countenance taunting, his eyes dancing with a glee that told Griphook he'd better play ball if he didn't care to end up torn painfully and slowly to shreds.

"Narcissa Malfoy," croaked the prisoner, his clawed fingers gripping the edge of the table, leaving thin grooves where his sharp nails bit in.

Shacklebolt and the other goblin gaped together. Elkamar knew he'd made a good threat judging not only by Griphook's reaction, but by the way those vampires at Malfoy Manor had disposed of the assailants and how the other two had been purportedly tortured by the humans, but never in half an age would he have thought the goblins audacious enough to attack Mrs. Malfoy, knowing the hell they'd unleash when Mr. Malfoy found out!

Kingsley cleared his throat. "Did you just say you pushed Narcissa Malfoy through the Veil?"

"Yes." Griphook's voice began to regain strength. "You can't let Malfoy get me, it's against the law."

"So is murder!" thundered the Minister, thumping a hand on the wooden table, making it rattle.

"I—we didn't—she's not dead," stammered Griphook, his breathing shallow with the beginnings of panic. "Promise you won't let him at me and I'll tell you everything."

The Minster of Magic paused, then cautiously nodded his head once. He may be the leader of the wizarding community, but as an auror at heart he recognized the importance and benefits of using innocuous means to gain what he needed. Fear proved to be a great motivator and marvelous assistant. He wasn't sure what Elkamar had said, though he suspected it had something to do with Malfoy, a wand, and Griphook in a dark room.

"Alright, agreed—the truth only. You will remain in jail for your crimes…unless I find out you're lying to me, and then I might forget to lock your cell and accidentally let it slip to Malfoy exactly where you are."

Griphook's overly large head bobbed vigorously in agreement. A locked cell guarded by aurors was the safest place for him at the moment. "Lucius Malfoy exposed us, he told you and everyone that we were responsible for the robberies of goblin artifacts—which rightfully belong to us!"

A hard stare from Shacklebolt set him back on his course.

"Anyway, when the Mirror of Erised got destroyed and our men deserted, we—me, Karnak, and Ratell—decided to get even. Malfoy ruined everything, so we'd take _his_ everything." The goblin's chin lifted with a hint of pride. "We stole her and cursed her; we planned to throw her in the arch and let him suffer over her absence, then later when he started to feel better we'd send him a message that his wife was beyond the Veil where he can never get her back."

"You killed her," said Kingsley in a flat tone.

Smiling evilly through pointed teeth, Griphook cocked his head. Humans really were thick! "I told you, she's not dead. We three cursed her with the Sleep of Death."

"What is it you fail to understand about the concept of _murder_?" exclaimed the wizard. His attention was diverted by a persistent tugging on his sleeve.

Nearly jumping up and down in his chair, Elkamar rolled Griphook's confession around in his mind. The Sleep of Death was a forbidden chant, yet one most all goblins made a point to learn as a matter of self-interest. It required three voices, three wills to accomplish it…they'd had that. In a high pitched lament he uttered, "Minister, if what he says is true, Narcissa Malfoy isn't dead—she's worse! Cursed for life, condemned to a living death, that's what it does!"

"Are you saying you concur that Narcissa is alive?" asked Shacklebolt numbly.

"Well, in a word—yes," murmured Elkamar. "The curse put her in a virtual state of death, so when she crossed the Veil it recognized her as already dead…that's why she wouldn't die when she went through. She'll be stuck forever behind the Veil between life and death."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

On the netherworld side of the archway, Narcissa lay on the ground—or what passed for ground. At the moment it appeared to be white ceramic tile, but anyone who'd been here for any length of time would assert that it changed at random intervals to dirt, wood paneling, linoleum, and an amorphous substance similar to clouds. Likewise, there were at times walls and buildings or—like now—a huge empty expanse obscured after a short distance by an ethereal mist.

Drawn by the feeling of a relative's entrance, Sirius Black had been the first to arrive and to ascertain that something was direly wrong with his cousin. No matter how badly mauled or injured, once a person passed through the Veil he became whole again, vibrant. They didn't lounge about on the floor.

"Cissy, hurry up, she's coming!" Sirius slung his arm around Narcissa's back and hauled her to her feet as another of his cousins approached.

A beautiful Bellatrix no longer emaciated and wasted from years in prison sidled up to the duo, pursing her lips and frowning as she circled the man holding up a limp, lifeless body. Raising Narcissa's face with one hand, she examined the witch perfunctorily then directed her haughty glare at Sirius. Leave it to him to make a mess of even a dead woman! "What'd you do to Cissy, piss ant?"

In true Black fashion he returned her malevolent stare. "I didn't do anything, she—"

"Then why is my sister hanging over your arm like a rag doll?" demanded the witch, hands on her hips. Though she still had a marked preference for trashy clothing, her dark hair was shiny and combed, hanging down her back in shimmering waves. Death seemed to have been good for her.

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, she came through like that. And by the way, I _so_ can't wait till judgment day when you go to hell where you belong!" He lowered Narcissa back to the tile.

As he spoke, Bella rolled her eyes and mimicked him silently. How many times had she heard that? "You sound like a broken, whiny Muggle recording device." She stooped over to poke at Narcissa's body. "I'd say she was dead, only if she was, she'd get up."

"Deduced that all by yourself, did you?" smirked Sirius.

The sound of pounding footsteps prompted them to look over at Regulus bounding toward them, the same dark haired, handsome, enthusiastic lad he'd been when he died at the age of eighteen trying to destroy one of Voldemort's horcruxes. Taking little notice of them, focusing instead on the woman lying beyond them, he trotted past the two. "Cissy!" When she made no answer or movement, he peered down curiously at her. "Huh. This doesn't seem right."

"Sirius did something to her," Bellatrix tattled, motioning over the rest of the clan, including her parents, Sirius' parents, and Nymphadora Tonks.

"_I did not_, you streetwalking trollop!" bellowed the man.

"Watch your language, whelp," admonished Orion. He elbowed his son aside to make room for the others. Regulus had knelt beside the witch and was shaking her, to no avail.

"Aunt Bella started it," Tonks jumped in. Her great-aunt and –uncle scowled. Cygnus put a protective arm round his granddaughter lest they decide to light into her. It wasn't easy to rile him, but when it happened no one cared to be on the receiving end of the wrath.

"What's going on?" asked Druella, kneeling down beside Regulus to stroke her daughter's face. "Cissy, what's happened to you?"

"She's not moving, I don't think she should be here," said Regulus. "Sirius, can't we push her back through the arch?"

"Oh, she's pregnant!" exclaimed Druella as her palm slid along the tiny bump of Narcissa's abdomen. "You must send her back, let her child be born!"

Sirius thought for a moment then shrugged. "Maybe we can. Reg, take her head, I'll get her feet. Aunt Druella, I need you to move, okay?"

Together the brothers lifted Narcissa, pressed her against the Veil, and pushed with all their might. The curtain, which normally flapped freely on the archway, didn't budge. Finally they put her down, looking somber and bemused.

Bella, who'd been observing and sneering, clapped mockingly. "Idiots. We can't go back, neither can she. Only live people can go in that direction, and _they_ don't live here."

"She's obviously not dead," argued Tonks. "The only other option is alive."

"Yeah, shut up, wench," Sirius hurled at Bella. "Reg, let's throw her through. Maybe us touching her is what's preventing it."

"Good luck," chirped Bella.

She crossed her arms and slouched against Orion, one of the crowd watching the scene with interest. Many had tried to return to the world of the living; none that he was aware of had tried to return _someone else_ to the other realm.

Once more the men picked up Narcissa's drooping form. They swung her backward and forward one, two, three times. On the third they both let go and Narcissa sailed at the Veil, struck the cloth as if it were solid rock, and tumbled to the ground.

Bellatrix burst out laughing, actually doubling over with mirth. "If you keep it up, you _will_ kill her. I can't wait to see her wake up and kick your ass!"

"It's your fault, Sirius. You should've done it like Regulus, you good-for-nothing," Walburga sniffed at her son.

"I was _doing_ it like Regulus, _Mother_!" Sirius snapped back. "Do you think you can do better? Be my guest, have at it!"

Orion gave him a shove and ordered, "Don't speak to your mother that way."

Sirius threw up his hands in exasperation. This was the precise reason he spent as little time with the Black clan as possible. "I'm going back to my friends, you can do whatever you want."

"It wasn't going to work anyway, mutt," Bella claimed, giving off a radiantly smug, superior air. "There has to be the _will_ _of a living person_ to cross back over; Cissy doesn't look capable of that."

Her cousin stopped in his tracks, turned partway back, and glowered. He hated asking her for anything, but even at her most evil she hadn't really been a liar. Cruel, demented, sadistic, heartless…but not a liar. "And you would know this _how_?"

"The dark lord had a lot of books he didn't show to anybody except me." She stuck out her tongue, whirled around, and flounced off with her high heels clicking on the tile.

"I hate her, Reg," Sirius growled to his brother. "I know I shouldn't, but I really do."

Regulus gave a noncommittal shrug. "She's not as bad as she used to be."

"Yeah. Pitiful, isn't it?" Sirius gestured at Narcissa. "Let's move Cissy out of the way of incoming traffic so she doesn't get stepped on. I guess that's all we can do."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

**July 2, 1999**

Now that his brothers were home from school for the summer, Theo had been forced to move back to the other bedroom with his baby sister. It wasn't actually all that bad; she fell asleep before he came to bed, she didn't snore, and her bed was always empty when he woke up. It could be a lot worse…like it was with Draco.

Theo slouched over and crashed onto the bed. His visit with his friend had been awful, heart wrenching. Was that how he'd looked and acted when he thought his father was dead? They'd barely spoken the whole time Theo was there, it had been a dismally depressing experience.

He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. Mum and Dad had been right, it wasn't safe for him to live alone in their old house, not with those vengeful goblins on the loose. If they could get to Narcissa Malfoy so easily, surely they'd have no trouble assaulting anyone else. At least he didn't have to worry about Jacinta: she and Glenna were quite capable with their wands, Jack had learned from his highly trained Death Eater father, and Professor Snape was keeping an eye on her.

"What'sa matter, Theo?" Missy tripped across the room with an ever-present doll clutched in her arm, her wee face looking distressed. "Mummy's cryin' and Daddy's sad, and you look sad, too."

Theo opened his eyes to see his sister observing him. "You remember how terrible we felt when we thought Dad was dead?"

Missy bobbed her head. "I cried a lot—an' so did you."

Ignoring the tail end of her remark, true though it was, he went on, "Draco's mum is dead. He's really upset. I feel so bad for him and Mr. Malfoy…and the baby."

Unable to offer words of consolation, the little girl clawed her way up onto the bed, crawled into her brother's lap, and hugged him round the waist. Theo draped his arms around her and sighed. He just wished this nightmare would end, but that was a pipe dream and this was reality. Sometimes reality sucked.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

**July 5, 1999**

Snape literally ran out of the floo in the Ministry of Magic, paused only long enough to have his wand examined and a visitor's tag issued, then bolted for the lift. As unused to fidgeting as Severus was, he paced nervously round the lift while it hauled him from the atrium to Level Nine. A nearly hysterical Draco had given him a floo call to say his father was acting very strangely and he feared the man might do something rash or dreadful. Lucius had come to the Ministry, and there was only one reason Severus could deduce for that. Insisting that Draco remain at home, he'd left Hogwarts immediately.

He bolted straight to the room containing the archway and burst through the door. Sure enough, Lucius stood on the platform below stroking the stone arch, bending in to listen to the whispers from beyond, his eyes bearing a faraway look.

Twisting a bit to see who had come in, he said, "I can hear her, Severus."

"There are many voices, I can't tell one from another," responded his friend, calmly walking down the steps as if he made this journey every day.

"I have to go to her. I can't leave her there."

The door above suddenly opened again; two aurors wearing quizzical expressions came in. Recognizing Snape and speculating on the reason Mr. Malfoy stood next to the Veil, they hesitated and looked to Snape, who shook his head in warning and mouthed the words, _Let me do this_. They nodded curtly and backed out.

Alone again with Lucius, needing to buy time, Severus commenced to descending the steps, keeping Lucius talking. He was getting close. "Do you honestly believe those despicable goblins told the truth?"

The blond wizard hesitated for only an instant, then he nodded. "Yes. They wanted to punish me so they chose the best way to rip my heart to shreds. I must bring her back."

_Keep moving, stay calm, don't spook him._ "She's dead, Lucius. You can't bring her back."

"No!" shouted Malfoy, slamming a fist on the arch. A shower of dust from the crumbling structure floated down to settle on his hair and shoulders. "They said she's not! I need her, my children need her." His voice cracked.

Severus had halted in place at the outburst; now he continued to edge ever nearer. "I wish it weren't so, but we all know what happens to those who cross the Veil."

"Do we?" Lucius' pained eyes pierced his friend. "How do we know? Because someone said so?"

"Yes!" That certainly cleared things up, didn't it? In Lucius' place, _he_ would hardly be convinced. It wasn't as if he could offer up tangible proof one way or the other. "Well, no. Great wizards through the ages believed so. If you don't accept it, the grief will eat you alive."

"What do you think is happening to me right now, Severus?" howled Lucius. "She's been my life since I was sixteen years old! I can't—do this." He fell to his knees as tears trickled down his cheeks and his chest heaved silently.

Severus gradually eased himself up onto the dais. "I know what you're thinking, but if you go into the Veil you'll die. Draco and Ladon need you—now more than ever."

Lucius caressed the stone arch beside him. "Why would they keep this arch here if all it can do is bring death?" he croaked. "I can't believe they would, they'd destroy it if that's all it was good for. There must be a way to bring people back from the other side, it doesn't make sense otherwise."

"Perhaps you're right," Severus agreed, first to placate the man, yet surprising himself in that he'd never stopped to think of it before. Why else would wizards and witches all these centuries have kept an archway capable only of death? Lucius was correct, it made no sense, there had to be more to it.

Nevertheless, allowing Lucius to cross over was not going to be beneficial for anyone involved. In one quick action he snatched Malfoy's wrist and jumped off the platform dragging the man with him. They toppled to the floor where Snape rolled on top of him, pinning him down. Had Malfoy not been so distraught, Snape's lighter frame and lack of serious muscle bulk would have had a devil of a time keeping him down.

Lucius struggled feebly, then lay still as the tears ran from his eyes. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because your family needs you, and because you're my best friend. _I_ need you." Not one tending to maudlin sentimentalities, Severus wasn't prone to admit so blatantly his feelings, yet it was true. Lucius had been more than a friend for most of his life…he was a brother. He couldn't bear to lose him.

Breaking into helpless, anguished sobs Lucius screamed, "If you're my friend, help me—save—Narcissa! There has—to be—a way."

What could he say? His heart ached at Narcissa's loss, and it broke nearly in two to see Lucius wasting away so quickly it was frightening. If he promised to resurrect Narcissa, he'd be lying. If he didn't do something, Lucius would end up here again—and next time he may not be able to stop the man from committing suicide in a vain attempt to reach his beloved wife. All he could do was offer hope, meager as it was.

"I'll do whatever I can to bring Narcissa back if you swear to me to stay away from here while we figure something out."

Lucius nodded mutely, the gratitude in his eyes piercing Snape's soul. Many years ago, at the plea of his friend, he'd undertaken what he deemed an impossible task: creating a fertility potion tailored to Narcissa to allow her to bear a child. Months upon months of fruitless labor and agonizing failure had finally culminated in a successful potion. This wasn't going to be a simple potion, for crying out loud, he was trying to raise the dead! Compared to what lay ahead, that first task had been a walk in the park.


	67. Research

Death Eater No More—Chapter Sixty-Seven (Research)

**July 9, 1999**

It was rare indeed for visitors to come to Hogwarts during summer holidays. Why would they? The children had all gone, most of the instructors had left as well. Alright, occasionally there were visitors, ones expected and greeted by the person they were here to see, and they usually arrived by floo. Thus it was with curiosity and a bit of suspicion that Minerva bustled to open the front gate in order to size up the two men standing patiently, casually, smiling at her. My, they were a handsome pair—obviously brothers.

"Hello, I am deputy Headmistress McGonagall. May I help you?"

The brothers had enough sense not to chance a thrilled glance at one another, though inwardly they rejoiced. She hadn't recognized them! She who had the memory of an elephant and the observation skills of—well, McGonagall—hadn't recognized them! The surgery had definitely been a roaring success.

The older, more sturdily built man answered in his new voice that had turned out half an octave lower than the original, "I'm Wendolph Goodman. This is my brother Jorab. We've come to see Professor Snape."

"I don't recall him ever mentioning a Goodman," Minerva pondered. This was not truly indicative of anything, since Severus tended to keep his personal life to himself. She pursed her lips and peered so hard at them they feared their disguise had been discovered, their souls bared. "Nor did he inform me to expect anyone."

Dolph didn't so much as bat an eye. "He's not expecting us. We've come to ask his help on a project we've been working on."

Rabby jumped in with, "We understand if you'd rather we wait out here while you fetch him. The weather is pleasant, it would be no hardship."

Not moving a sinewy muscle of her willowy frame, Minerva scrutinized the men. She detected no unsettling aura about them, they certainly weren't dressed like beggars or vagrants, and when it came right down to it she doubted there was much harm they could do to an empty castle. For her own part, she considered herself capable of adequate defense, and Snape had taken on two foes more than once.

"Follow me, gentlemen." She allowed the wizards in, and without warning she whipped out her wand from her blousy sleeve to cast an anti-glamour charm on the pair. It had no effect—unless one counted the knowledge that this old witch meant business. She shut and locked the huge door behind them, keeping her wand gripped in her fingers.

Taking off at a brisk walk that very strongly resembled a trot, she strode down the corridors with Dolph and Rab scrambling to catch up and adjust their longer strides to her canter.

"Professor Snape is inordinately busy. If he indicates that he's got no time for you, I'm afraid you'll have to make an appointment. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," the Goodman brothers murmured in unison, feeling exactly like the teenage boys who'd endured countless detentions under this teacher's rule. The mere fact of having been assigned to Slytherin House being a punishable offense, any true mischief only served to compound the penalty.

From the other direction they spied Mr. Filch slouching by cradling his cat on one arm, nuzzling her and mumbling into her fur. The squib grunted an acknowledgement to McGonagall while gawping openly at the intruders. Minerva sent a scathing grimace at Mrs. Norris, who stared at her nemesis as they passed with the unblinking expertise that only a cat can muster. She crawled up onto Filch's shoulder to hiss back at the witch, and kept her eyes trained on the woman until she rounded the corner.

At first the brothers assumed they'd be taken to Snape's office or to the Potions lab, the two places he spent the majority of his time. Instead McGonagall led them to the library, knocked twice, and opened the door.

"Severus, these men say they know you and would like to speak with you. If you're busy, I'll have them come back."

At the table where dozens of old, dusty books from the Reference section sat in piles, Snape stood up and brushed down his robe. "Thank you, Minerva, it's entirely alright. Wendolph, Jorab, why don't you come in."

Minerva nodded before shutting the door to be on her way. The instant her tightly bunned head disappeared from the entrance, Severus had his wand out casting a silencing spell around the area. "What are you doing here?" he growled.

"Well, hello to you, too," responded Rab, ambling over to pull out a chair and seat himself.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, we're not here to make trouble," Dolph assured him with a grin that looked too devilish not to mean trouble. He followed his brother to the sturdy oak table laden with heavy volumes. A cursory glance of a few titles told him Snape was hard at work researching a way to aid Narcissa: Dead, Undead, and In-between; Life After Death; Spells to Prolong Life; Dark Secrets of Hades.

"I don't make a practice of entertaining ex-Death Eaters at Hogwarts," retorted Severus. "Unless you've got news or come to help, I suggest you leave me to my study."

"That is precisely the crux of the matter," said Dolph, smirking to himself. He actually sounded like Snape! "We need _your_ help in order to assist you. As you know, the dark lord had a room below the old castle where he kept loads of books and artifacts and—who knows what? I was never permitted in there, but Bella told me about it."

"A reliable source," grumbled Severus, easing back into his chair. "Is there a point to this, or you merely enjoy regaling me with tales of that harpy who did her utmost to make my life a living nightmare?"

Dolph sighed heavily. "She wasn't that bad, I don't know why everyone picks on her. I mean, she had her moments, and she came close to murdering me a few times, but what wife doesn't?"

The silence was deafening. No one wanted to touch that.

Tossing his head as if he'd made his point, Dolph went on, leaning in and lowering his voice in the event anyone was listening. "Anyway, Voldemort powerfully warded the room, I've only broken one barrier. Here's the thing: you went with Travers the night they killed that McKinnon family, right?" He needed no affirmation, he knew it to be true before Snape's features hardened, his eyes glinting with malice.

"Rabastan was there as well," Severus answered tightly. "What of it?"

"_Jorab_," corrected Rabby. On second thought, maybe he ought to have let it be. He was not Rabastan anymore; whatever that vicious Death Eater did was not attributable to _him_. "I couldn't hear most of what Travers was saying when he recited the ward-breakers Voldemort taught him. Did you hear them?"

It wasn't a night Severus liked to remember, his first mission as a Death Eater…and a punishment from the dark lord for an earlier infraction. Along with the multitude of _crucio_s he received that night, he was sent to witness the deaths of an entire family, unable to prevent them though he tried. Severus swallowed in his suddenly dry throat and nodded silently, then said, "I don't remember them after all these years. We'll have to—"

"—use the pensieve," all three men said together.

"We'll wait here and see if we can find anything in these books," offered Dolph. He slid into a chair and lifted a volume from the stack, adding with another mischievous grin, "Try not to dawdle."

"I'll try not to put my foot up your arse," Severus returned, glowering down his prominent nose at the pair. Heaving himself from his seat, he headed for the exit, purposely billowing his robe furiously.

He realized he shouldn't resent the intrusion, they only wanted to contribute to the cause of rescuing Narcissa, and the bare fact was that if _anyone_ had thoroughly researched coming back from Hades, it was Voldemort. His private library might yield immense treasures. If there existed a chance of finding a useful spell or whatnot, he owed it to Lucius to give the Goodman brothers what they needed…even if it involved revisiting one of the most sickening, wretched nights of his life.

Rabby reclined back in his chair, kicked his feet up onto the table, and sighed. "I wanted to do this for seven years when I attended school, but that creepy librarian used to watch me like a hawk hovering over a defenseless sheep."

"I don't think she was watching you. That was her lazy eye." Dolph flipped open one of the books and started to read.

When the door swung open a few minutes later, the brothers naturally expected Snape to come snarling in. The blond boy in question resembled Snape in no way, shape, or form. From force of habit their wands instantly appeared in their hands, Rabby dropped his feet onto the floor and stood up, and Dolph twisted around for a good shot.

Bayly stopped in his tracks, a gasp catching in his throat, his hands slowly raising above his head. No one was supposed to be in here except Snape! He glanced frantically about the room. "I—where's Professor Snape? If you did something to him—"

"You'll what, little boy?" taunted Dolph in a smooth voice. He pushed back his chair to get up. "What are you doing in here? Who are you?"

"Bayly Young. I'm Snape's apprentice, I came to help him with his research." His eyes desperately sought not only refuge, but a place where the professor might be. He briefly considered popping his wand into his hand to fight back, but with no cover to duck behind he'd be blasted to smithereens by two spells before he could twitch. And yet, if his mentor needed him, he _had_ to do something. He edged toward the nearest bookshelf.

The thinner, more tense looking of the two men repeated, "Bayly Young? Dolph, isn't that the kid Malfoy took under his wing?" Already he'd lowered his wand and returned to his seat. "Leave him alone."

"You're Dolohov's kid!" Dolph blurted incredulously, completely forgetting he held the youth virtual hostage by the wand dangling lazily in his fingers, pointed at the lad. He moved in closer for a better look, curiously studying the boy. "I never would've thought that sick bastard could manage to get a woman to mate with him. You don't favor him at all."

Embarrassed and wary, Bayly shrank back. "It's none of your business. Where is Professor Snape?"

"That's a good question. Where is he?" With Bayly creeping away from the doorway, Aline had come in unnoticed, her silent _expelliarmus_ sending Dolph's wand sailing in her direction as she spoke, and she caught it without missing a beat.

"He went to use his pensieve, if you must know," snapped Dolph, whirling to see who had bested him. Immediately his expression changed from indignation to wonder at the sight of the Potions mistress in her foreign-cut robes, her brown hair curling about her shoulders. "Well hello, lovely American bird. Think you can defeat me in a fair duel, do you?" He laughed to himself. Of all the women he'd ever seen use a wand, only Bella could easily beat him…rather badly, if truth be told.

"In a heartbeat," Aline responded, gesturing for Bayly to get behind her, which he pretended not to notice.

"I like her, Rabby," said Dolph, still chuckling. "Feisty and fit."

"Who are you?" demanded Aline.

The wizard made a gallant bow. "Wendolph Goodman, a friend of Snape. And you are…?"

"Unavailable," she said blankly. Judging by the way he was trying to woo her, he wasn't here for a fight, not to mention the way the other wizard seemed wholly nonthreatening, seated and watching with amused interest. Likely they honestly were friends of Severus. She returned her weapon to its wrist holster and tossed Dolph's back to him. "Anytime you're up for a real duel, let me know."

"Name the time and place, sweetheart," Dolph crooned, making Rabby roll his eyes.

"Get one thing straight, Mr. Goodman—I am not, nor will I ever be, your sweetheart." Aline brushed by him on the way to the tome-laden library table.

His brother chortled in the background as Dolph opened his mouth, poised either to spout another banal come-on or insert a foot, when Bayly stepped up beside him. Having been caught off guard and mocked, the boy took great pleasure in a small act of retribution. "If you're really a friend of Professor Snape, you know what he's capable of. I'd love to see his reaction when he finds out you were chatting up his fiancée."

"Ooh!" Rab exclaimed, pounding the table in glee. "_She's_ the one we've heard about!"

Dolph raised his hands to chest height, palms out, as he backed up. "I don't like her _that_ much." Merlin's ghost, what was taking Snape so long? "I heartily apologize for my forward behavior, Miss Conn."

Aline ducked her head to hide the smirk dancing on her lips. If Severus' _friends_ dreaded a confrontation with him, she'd hate to see what he'd do to an enemy! Wait, she _had_ seen it, a horrible vision of Dolohov being cut in two to save Bayly. "Quite alright."

The library door slammed open again and Snape strode in. For a split second he halted, his face registering a mixture of surprise and worry at seeing Aline and Bayly hobnobbing with his old cronies. Immediately he restored his impassive visage. "Aline, I didn't expect you so soon."

"We finished up early in the lab, so we came to help out and found your delightful friends in here," responded Aline pleasantly.

_Delightful_? Automatically Severus' gaze bounced to the entrance. Had some other acquaintances come and gone in that short stretch of time? He shook his head. "I've written a list of the ward-breakers Travers used. I suppose you'll be on your way now." He held out the parchment, which Aline sprang forward to get a look at before it was gone.

"Ward-breakers? What for?" _Brikan warten, kosa garde, reversus proteccio, defensum splinte, lucan ontdoen._ Her eyes quickly scanned the list of five fairly obscure spells, only one of which she knew. Suddenly she felt woefully ill-taught.

Severus peered over at Bayly with a question in his mind. The boy was well aware of their toil in trying to find the means to save Narcissa, there was no point in treating him like a child now, though it was evident from the resigned slump of his shoulders that Bayly anticipated being ordered from the room. To the evident dismay of the youth, Severus clamped him firmly on the clavicle and dragged him over to the group.

"We're all looking for the same thing, a way to rescue Narcissa. At the old hideaway Voldemort had a secret chamber; Dolph and Rab are trying to gain access by breaking through his wards."

"We should copy these for future reference," Aline suggested, excited at the prospect of learning new wards. A clean, fresh parchment, quill, and ink floated over from the librarian's desk. "I know a couple others not on this list."

"Mark them down," said Severus. "The more the better. We'll continue to search here, Lucius and Draco are poring over Abraxas' library—which reminds me, gentlemen. Lucius asked me to pass along a message if I saw you: Any rogue goblins on the loose must be captured and questioned, and he'd like to be there."

Rabby and Dolph exchanged knowing glances, then turned their attention to Severus and nodded in unison. Knowing Lucius, the request had probably sounded more like, _Find the little bastards so I can torture the truth out of them_. Ah well, it was understandable that Snape would clean it up in front of his girlfriend and the kid.

"Will do," Dolph answered calmly. "I'll pass it on to Marshal, he's got a lot of connections in the less savory realms. Come on, Rabby, we've got work to do."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Ladon was not pleased. Day-co and Auntie had brought him into the wondrous room lined with bazillions of blocks, but did they offer him any to play with? They did not! Auntie had dumped him on his stomach on a plush blanket in the corner, left a cache of his old toys, and went off with Day-co to the massive block where they sat morosely staring down at their games. Big people didn't know how to have fun at all!

The baby pushed back with his arms till he was squatting on his haunches. It was a new position he was experimenting with. So far it felt dizzyingly odd but exhilarating, and recently he'd managed to take a few hesitant lurches forward. Keeping his eye on the prize, he moved his arms and legs in an awkward yet satisfactory crawl all the way across the room to the bottom of the bookcase where his treasure awaited.

Grinning all over himself at his success, Ladon plopped down on his diapered rear, leaned forward, and tugged at one of the heavy books. It didn't budge. Undaunted, he pulled on each book in turn until one of the smaller, thinner texts slid out into his hands. He promptly dropped it on the Persian rug and it fell open. Ladon's mouth made an 'O' and he squeaked gleefully. Who knew these special big-people blocks had all these glorious rippy-toys inside?

One pudgy hand grabbed a page, snagging the edge; he gave a swift uplifting yank and the parchment tore down the middle. Oh, what fun! Ladon giggled and grasped for another page with his other hand, only to be thwarted by the Auntie person.

"Ladon! How did you get over here?" Andromeda lifted him up and pried the paper from his tiny fist as he attempted to stuff it into his mouth. "Draco, fix this book before your father sees it. When did Ladon start crawling?"

Draco left the volume he was studying to reattach the ripped page into the book with his wand. "He's been doing a strange belly crawl for a couple weeks. Is he doing the real thing now?"

Foiled at his endeavor at amusement, Ladon thrashed and kicked in Andromeda's arms, forcing her to set him once more on his blanket. He glared petulantly up at her, his bottom lip thrust out. The words '_How come I'm not allowed to play? You're mean and horrible and I want my mama'_ came out as, "Dabada pap nama pushi mama."

Andromeda took a seat nearer the child in order to watch him better. She saw no point in all this research, this useless striving to do the impossible. It devastated her to lose Narcissa when they'd finally become chummy again, but she understood that death happens. Lucius just looked so lost and pitiful she couldn't bear to tell him how she really felt. So here she was trying to bring her sister back from beyond the Veil…good thing she'd left Teddy with his godfather Harry or the two tots would probably revolt together.

Ladon flung himself backward onto the blanket, reaching out for something to throw. He'd discovered that when big people upset him, he felt better by hurling objects at them. The wooden rattle the Goyles had given him careened across the space, barely missing Andromeda's leg. A red block, then a blue one followed; the second winged her calf.

"Stop it, young man. A temper tantrum is not going to get you books to destroy," Andy said calmly. She handed him the stuffed phoenix Narcissa had given him only a few days before her disappearance. "Here, play with this."

"Mama?" Ladon questioned, studying the witch's face for answers. There were none forthcoming. Where was mama? Why didn't she come and pick him up and hug him and rock him while she sang her pretty songs? _I. Want. MAMA!_

There was a muffled popping noise and a shriek of terror. As one Andy and Draco sprang toward the boy covered in and surrounded by bits of fluff, holding the toy animal's exploded carcass in one fist while he wailed and sobbed.

Andromeda snatched him up off the floor, only to hand him to his anxious older brother. As Draco brushed the clumps of stuffing off his sibling, Andy commented, "That's the second occasion of accidental magic he's done, and he's barely six months old. You're going to have to keep a close eye on him."

A moment later there were the sounds of pounding feet in the hall and Lucius burst through the library door, followed by Mateo. "What happened? Is Ladon alright?"

"He's fine, Father," Draco replied, gently jostling the child pressing his sniffling face into the young man's neck. "He blew up his stuffed animal."

"Poor little fellow," Mateo murmured at the tyke. His cold hand caressed the baby's head. "Must have scared him witless."

Lucius extended his hands to Draco, who passed Ladon along. The baby threw his stubby arms about his father's neck with a renewed bout of weeping interspersed with cries of, "Mama." It crushed Lucius' heart to hear his son in such distress, a gut-wrenching echo of his own misery.

Mateo took his nephew by the arm, led his aside, and said, "The offer stands, Lucius. Say the word and I'll go into the Veil to look for Narcissa."

Lucius rounded on him, his eyes full of tears he longed to shed but would not. That belonged to the privacy of his bedroom—Narcissa's bedroom. He loved Mateo, and he knew full well the _sangrista_ loved him and his children. That was not the issue. It would tear him apart even further if any ill came to another of his loved ones. Why did they have to argue about this when the family was already so upset? "Mateo, I can't risk losing you, too. Why are you so persistent?"

"Because I want to help!"

"Getting yourself killed won't bring Narcissa back, and it won't make any of us feel better!" Lucius thundered, sending Ladon into another round of hysterics at his father's mean tone. Patting and comforting the boy, he lowered his voice. "Only the dead—or those cursed to pass as dead—can go through unscathed. We've gone over this; you're not dead, you're _undead_. You can move and talk and feel….that's a whole different category, there's no telling what the Veil would do to you, but I've every reason to suspect it wouldn't be good."

"I have to do something," insisted Mateo stubbornly.

Lucius put his hand on his uncle's back and forcibly guided him out into the hallway where they'd have some privacy. As much as he loathed opening himself up to be read like a parchment, there was a time and a place for it. This was that time and place.

"Mateo, you've already done so much—you probably saved our lives from the goblins." He held up a palm and shook his head to discourage the interruption waiting to happen. With a slight quiver in his voice he went on, "I try not to let anyone see, but I'm hanging by a thread here. I need to know you're there for me like you've been since I was a young man."

"Of course I am, always."

"Not if you die," observed Lucius softly. The tears welling in his eyes threatened to fall; he simply blinked them back and swallowed the lump rising in his throat. "With Narcissa gone and Draco as distraught as I am, the family is like a ship whose mooring has been cut. You're the constant, the voice that keeps us from drifting to the point of no return. Without that, I—" He averted his face, unable to continue.

Gazing at his nephew with a tender affection, Mateo answered quietly, "If you need me to be your anchor until Narcissa comes back, I will. Here, let me take Ladon for a while. He likes it when I sing to him."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"You leave her right there, pipsqueak!" Sirius commanded, stomping over. On the cloud-like floor, the effect was substantially diminished.

Regulus straightened up over Narcissa's body. "We—the _family_—decided she should be with us, not with a bunch of your loser friends that she hated," retorted the young man. So saying, he bent down again to hoist the woman into his arms.

Sirius grabbed his arm and jerked him away before he had the chance to lift her. "She's just as safe here—probably more so than with that bunch."

"'That bunch' is our blood, Sirius! If you don't let me take her, Bella will come get her, and I don't think you want that." Reg crossed his arms and stared haughtily in a way that did the Blacks proud.

"Oooh, I'm shaking," replied his brother snidely.

From behind a pillar not far off, a man watched them intently. He wore a many-colored striped tunic secured by a leather belt, the long reddish brown hair around his face braided in several plaits, leaving the rest free; though ancient at his death, he now looked to be no more than forty. His eyes frequently strayed to the woman on the ground, and he desired very much to go to her. So it was true, someone had come through the Veil and lived…in a manner of speaking. He must tell the others. What they could do about it remained a mystery…


	68. Voldemort's Stash

Death Eater No More—Chapter Sixty-Eight (Voldemort's Stash)

**July 12, 1999**

When Viktor Krum left Minister Yablanski's office, he strolled through the reception area, giving a friendly wave to the receptionist and the secretary. He'd been to the office several times, thanks to the Minister's love of Quidditch and Krum's status as a national hero; he'd come to be rather comfortable here.

Upon entering the enclosed hallway, he took the lift to the first level. When the doors opened, he gasped in thrilled astonishment and lunged forward at the bushy-haired young woman waiting on the other side.

"Hermione! Vhat are you doing here?" he exclaimed, clasping the girl to his chest and whirling her in a circle before setting her down.

"Viktor, how lovely to see you! I could ask you the same thing," Hermione answered, feeling flustered. "I was recently hired by the British Ministry as liaison to Bulgaria."

"That's vonderful! Ve can see a lot more of each other," smiled Viktor, his dark eyes shining. The smile really did brighten him in a way most never got the opportunity to see.

Hermione couldn't help but smile back. It was nice to feel wanted, especially in a foreign land with no friends or family for support. "I'm only in Bulgaria part time, I divide between here and London. I was on my way to say goodbye to the Minister…I'm leaving tonight."

Viktor's features took on a look of utter disappointment as if her news had crushed the young wizard, which touched her. He'd made no secret of his affection for her, and truth be told now that she and Ron had broken up, she wouldn't feel like she was cheating to spend time with Viktor.

"I'm sad to hear that," Viktor murmured. "Vill you have lunch vith me before you go?"

"I'd love to," said Hermione. She laid a hand on his arm. Was that a light shudder at her touch? He was staring intently at her, grinning…it must have been a good shudder. "I'll just be a few minutes, then I'll meet you down here, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed. He watched her go into the lift, suddenly having a desire to kick himself. That was not only ungentlemanly to let her ride up and back alone, he'd lost precious minutes to spend with her! As soon as the lift returned, he traveled back to the Minister's floor and slipped inside the suite to unobtrusively wait for Hermione.

Across the room, the receptionist had come to stand in front of the secretary's desk as the women gossiped, not even bothering to lower their voices. The receptionist pointed with her thumb backward at the door to their boss's office. "_Ne moga de povyarvam che te sa pratili tazi vseznaeshtata za predstavitel, ta tya dazhe ne govori balgaski!"_ (I can't believe they sent that know-it-all as liaison, she can't even speak Bulgarian!)

The secretary took a sip of her coffee and nodded as she rolled her eyes. "_Ti chu li tya kak opleska rechta deto ya repetirashe za pred ministara?"_ (Did you hear the way she mangled that speech she was practicing for the Minister?)

The other woman put a hand over her mouth to snicker derisively. "_Zhalka rabota. Radvam se she tya shte bade tuk samo chast ot vremeto, na men po mi haresva da moga da govorya s kolegite si."_ (It was pitiful. I'm glad she's only going to be here part time, I like being able to talk to my coworkers.)

That was it, Viktor could tolerate no more. He pushed away from the wall, eyes flashing, jaw clenched. If they'd been men, there existed no doubt he'd have physically attacked them. "_Abe na vas dvete koi vi dava pravo da se prismivate na Hermione?"_ (What gives you two the right to make fun of Hermione?)

Both women whirled at his voice, shocked and embarrassed to find themselves not alone. One of them began to sputter something but Viktor barked over her, barely pausing for breaths.

"_Tya mnogo seriozno se opitva da uchi, tya e tuk samo ot niakolko sedmici! Vie dvete da ne bi da govorite angliiski perfectno? Ama go uchite ot godini, nali? Hora kato vas pravyat taka che vsichki balgari izglezhdat drebnavi horitsa koito vse gledat da ti zabiyat nozh v garba i na men tova ama hich ne mi haresva! Mozhe i da tryabva da i kazha s kakvi hora raboti, ama ne iskam da ya razstroivam. Ili mozhe bi tryabva da go kazha na ministara, ta toi da se zanimae s vas."_ (She's trying very hard to learn, it's only been a few weeks! Can you speak fluent English? You've been studying it for years! People like you make all Bulgarians look like petty, backstabbing jerks and I, for one, resent it! I should let her know what kind of people she's working with, only I don't want to hurt her feelings. Maybe I ought to tell the Minister, let him deal with you.)

Panting from anger, Viktor stopped to glare from one witch to the other. He expected no answer and got none. What he did get was the hair on the back of his neck standing up like the hackles on a cat. Dreading what he'd see, he turned his eyes toward the door to the Minister's office, where Hermione had come out and was observing him apprehensively.

"Viktor, what's wrong?"

The wizard forced himself to smile, which wasn't so hard when he looked only at her. "Nothing. Ve vere having a…discussion."

"You sounded awfully upset." Hermione walked over to him frowning, her brows knit. It wasn't like Viktor to talk overly much in public, let alone to shout. She'd understood almost none of what he said to the witches, but she recognized rage when she saw it. Merlin, his body was still tense as a board! What could these employees have said to him to put him in such a state? "Are you sure everything is alright?"

Viktor hooked his arm with hers to lead her out, casting a sidelong glance at the ladies. "I came to vait for you. Ve had a disagreement, it is nothing. Come, let's go have lunch."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

**July 13, 1999**

Naturally Hermione had heard about Narcissa Malfoy being cursed and tossed into the Veil, and also quite naturally she wanted to know more. Draco may be a prat, and Mr. Malfoy even worse, but Narcissa had saved Harry's life in the forest when Voldemort _avada kedavra_'d him. She didn't deserve such an awful fate, and if there was anything Hermione could do, she'd like to help.

If anyone might have more information, it was Severus Snape, Malfoy's good friend, yet Hermione had no illusions that he'd break down and share his soul with her even if the world were ending. Hell could freeze over, thaw, and freeze again before he'd tell his ex-student his business, and that was if he had a raging fever and was delusional at the brink of death. And drunk. However, surely he'd share any knowledge he had with his wife-to-be, who happened to be a friend of Hermione…

She arrived at Hogwarts in the morning—not too early, mind you, lest she antagonize the Headmaster, but early enough to speak to Aline after breakfast. She hurried to catch up with the Potions mistress in the library where Professor McGonagall indicated she'd been spending an inordinate amount of time, only to rush through the door and pull up short at the sight of Bayly Young and, to Hermione's chagrin, Snape. Well, this was awkward.

They didn't appear to have noticed. Keeping her eyes on the men, she took a step backward ever so slowly, creeping silent as a sleeping mouse. Another step. So far, so good. One arm reached back to fumble for the door, she was almost there.

Bayly lifted his head, got a startled look, then smiled. "Hello, Professor. When did you get back?"

_Nice escape, Granger!_ "Hi, Bayly! I got back last night to my parents' house. I thought I'd drop by and see how everything is going."

The young man sighed. He sounded somehow less enthusiastic than usual. "We've all been really busy trying to figure out a way to get into the Veil and get Mrs. Malfoy back. Obviously we've been unsuccessful."

With the two youths chattering like chimpanzees on pepper up potion, ignoring Hermione was no longer an option. He'd intended to pretend that he hadn't heard Granger come roaring in like a stampeding gazelle, and seen her reflection in the windows opposite the door; now Severus twisted in his chair just enough to snarl at her, though he spoke quite calmly. "Miss Granger, is there no way on Earth to keep you from returning to Hogwarts? I was of the impression you had a new job that kept you far from here. Why aren't you in Bulgaria?"

"My job is going very well," she replied. _Thanks for asking._

"Professor, you wouldn't happen to know anything about wards and how to break them, would you?" inquired Bayly, dodging the sudden icy glare emanating from his mentor. It didn't hurt to _ask_, did it? It wasn't as if he planned to tell the woman about Voldemort's old hideout—hell, he didn't even know where it was!

Hermione hesitated, pursing her lips. "I suppose I know pretty much the same as any ordinary witch—unless you count the one Harry told me about." To her surprise and delight, Snape's animosity had rapidly morphed into rapt attention. "Ordinarily you need to recite a spell to break a ward. Well, the day Professor Dumbledore died, he and Harry went to a secret cave looking to destroy a horcrux. Dumbledore had to streak some of his blood on the entrance to break the ward and allow them to pass."

"Seems a bit simplistic for such an intelligent dark wizard," remarked Severus dryly, evidently not convinced of her veracity. Either that or taunting her…hard call.

"It's not like I made it up, Harry told me!" Hermione snapped with an emphatic stamp of her foot. "Why wouldn't Voldemort use the offering of life force?"

Severus slid back his chair and got up in a leisurely fashion, betraying nothing. "Why, indeed. Bayly, continue your search. Miss Granger, if you feel so compelled, you're welcome to join him. I have an appointment to keep."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

**July 13, 1999**

"Open the damn door, I know you're in there!" Wendolph pounded even harder, prompting the neighbor in the next flat to peek out his door. A scathing grimace from the unhappy visitor sent him quickly scooting back inside.

Marshal wrenched open the door wearing a comparably sour expression, his face haggard and unshaven, his entire visage screaming that this had better be important. "What the f—k do you want?"

Dolph shoved him in the chest with one hand, propelling him backward, and stepped in after him. He slammed the door and cast a bubble of silence around them. From the front pocket of his robes he produced a rolled up copy of the _Daily Prophet_, which he rammed in his companion's face. The top headline read:

_Stream of Mysterious Death Eater Murders Continues: Rodolphus Lestrange the Latest Victim._

Marshal drew back his head in order to read, as a paper one inch from his nose proved intensely difficult to focus on. Then he snorted as he scratched at his stubble. "Good, they found you—him. I was a tad worried, it being a Muggle area and all. So what're you all pissy about, you ought to be thanking me."

"You left me—him—_naked_, you moron!" exclaimed Dolph as a pink tint crept into his cheeks. "What'd you do that for?"

"You always said you wouldn't be caught dead in Muggle clothes," explained Marshal, grinning slyly. His play on words made him chuckle out loud. "Caught dead, hehehe. I was just honoring your wishes."

"You left the body in an alley. I don't appreciate having the free world gawking at my bits!" snapped Dolph.

"Bitch, bitch, bitch," Marshal sighed, shrugging. He slapped the newspaper against the other wizard's chest and wandered off to the tiny kitchenette where he poured himself a cup of coffee leftover from the day before. A heating charm warmed it up. "You've nothing to be ashamed of, everything looked perfectly normal to me."

"Oh, shut up," groaned Dolph, his flesh creeping with disgust. The last thing he needed to hear was that Macnair had been checking him out! "While I'm here, Rabby wanted to know if you stood by our agreement." At the man's blank expression he expounded, "Was the bloke scum?"

"Oh, yeah, Rabby'd be proud of me. He was a pimp," Marshal grinned, very pleased with himself. "All I had to do was ask around for the top dog." He laughed out loud. The vacuum caused by the disappearance might, with any luck, cause the other pimps to knock each other off in an effort to become number one. "The puke was such a slimy bastard I'd have killed him even without the Polyjuice. He had some serious cash and loads of jewelry on him. I pawned it in another neighborhood last night—and before you ask, I was under a glamour charm, no one can identify me."

Dolph lowered himself onto the sofa and drummed his fingers on the padded arm. "That was resourceful. No point in wasting it. You gonna offer me some coffee, or what?"  
The other man dug through his cupboard for another cup and poured some of the thickened liquid into it. It looked thick enough to be expresso. A little water from the tap thinned it nicely, he heated it up, then hauled it over and thrust it into Dolph's hand.

"You didn't hear the best part," Marshal said, seating himself on the other end of the sofa. "I got a promising lead on those goblins Malfoy wants."

Suddenly interested, Dolph leaned forward, spilling a blob of hot coffee on the rug. "Oh, sorry. What's this about—"

The appearance of a dusty brown owl soaring through the open window right at him made Wendolph lurch back, sloshing the drink in a wide swath on the couch. "Er—sorry again." He took out his wand to clean up the messes as the bird landed on the low table in front of them.

In its beak it held a folded piece of parchment that Marshal snatched away, read over twice, and started to chortle with glee. Oh, this was just too good! In a sing-song voice that seemed out of place and frankly marginally disturbing, he said, "I've got a surprise for you!"

"Don't play games. What is it?"

Marshal paused to frown, cock his head, and look thoughtful. "Actually, it's more of a surprise for Malfoy. See, I know people who deal with unlawful elements—"

"Really? There goes my saintly image of you," Dolph drawled.

Marshal waved a hand impatiently. "Belt up, I'm trying to say something. Anyway, with the money I got last night, I paid a contact who told me about certain _wanted goblins_ that come to his shop for supplies…goblins he promised to detain when he saw them." Between two fingers he dangled the owl's message in front of Dolph. "Looks like we've got two goblins to pick up, then notify Lucius."

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Lucius apparated to the ruins of the castle, his clothing impeccable, his hair pulled back and tied. However, his outwardly collected appearance fell by the wayside when he took off at a dead run for the rubble. He bolted through the entrance and ran straight to the meeting room where so much had taken place over the years, including a good deal of torture—primarily of Voldemort's own men.

The two goblins that Marshal and Goodman had brought were currently under a _petrificus totalus_; the wizards left off chatting and turned to greet Malfoy, who merely nodded curtly. He approached slowly, grey eyes fiercely wild with fury, and circled the creatures. All at once his eyes widened with incredulity: though all goblins were by nature hideous, he thought he recognized this one!

He removed the spell and kicked the goblin with the toe of his boot. "You were in my manor, weren't you?"

Ratell glared up at him. "What if I was?"

Lucius bent down to grab him by the ear and drag the whimpering, yelping beast upright. "You tried to rob my house. You would have murdered my family the same way you murdered the others!"

"And you tortured us after your repulsive vampire friends killed our comrades!" Ratell spat back. "Mostly Griphook…it was his idea to get you back. He was right, you deserve what you got, filthy wand carrier!"

Time stood still while Lucius regarded the creature, as the words penetrated his brain. At last he croaked, his heart skipping a beat, "It was you, wasn't it?" Two goblins had been captured at the Veil, but the 'good goblin'—if such a thing existed—said it took three to cast the curse on Narcissa. Griphook had mentioned a third…Latrell, Latrine, Ratman—_Ratell_! "What is your name?"

"None of your business."

A fist crunched his long nose, snapping it sideways. Ratell cried out as blood spurted on his clothing. Still holding the goblin's ear, Lucius growled, "What is your name?"

"Ratell," whimpered the goblin. He motioned toward his companion. "That's Pulkran, he doesn't speak English very well."

"I don't care about him. You cursed my wife…you took her from me." Lucius placed his wand at the goblin's temple. "You're going to get her back, and you're going to remove the curse."

Ratell squealed and fell to his knees. "I can't! Nobody can go in the Veil!" he shrilled. "And—and there is no countercurse."

The wand erupted in an orange jet that blew the goblin halfway across the floor. Ratell landed and rolled, holding his head and screaming. Lucius calmly walked over and pointed the wand down at him.

"Care to reconsider?"

Now that the intense throbbing and burning from the spell was starting to subside, Ratell moaned, "I'm telling the truth. I can't save her and I can't remove the curse. It can't be done."

A blue curse struck Ratell in the chest and he curled in a ball screaming for mercy. His ribs had been shattered. Lucius had yet to resort to the Cruciatus; he believed it to be grossly overused and overrated, and lacking imagination to boot. Sure, it caused untold agony; it had its place, but there were other torments that required far less malice on his part to accomplish—not that he had a problem producing malice at the moment. He preferred to use a variety of inducements to reach his goal, keep the victim lucid enough to actually answer.

"We'll try again, _Ratell_. How are you going to rescue my wife?"

The goblin erupted into piteous sobs. "If I could, I would! _Nobody can_!"

Dolph nudged Marshal beside him and together they directed their gaze to the entry where Snape came sauntering in looking smug and repulsed at once. Honestly, he had the capacity to wear the oddest combinations of expressions! Leaving Lucius to his torture, they migrated over to Severus.

"Did Lucius call you?" asked Dolph. Neither he nor Marshal had, that was certain.

Snape shook his head, his attention distracted by Lucius and the infernal screaming. "No. I have new information about the wards. You've tried everything we had, but I just now learned of a new one."

Gesturing with a tilt of his head, he led the others into the next room where the entrance to the secret chamber was located. Taking a knife from a sheath in his boot, Severus sliced his palm and waited for the blood to well up, then he smeared it across the wall. Immediately he drew his wand over the slash to heal it, with his comrades looking on in dumbfounded wonder.

The outline of a wide doorway materialized on the stone; the wall blocking them disappeared inside the outline and they stood at the threshold of a ten foot square cramped room, two walls lined with bookshelves. Against the third wall was a sturdy, small table with a comfortable armchair. On the shelves were dozens of worn books, articles of jewelry, amulets, an old cracked pot.

"_Lumos_," said Severus, and the area lit up.

"Bloody hell," said Dolph in awe. "I thought Bella said it was underground."

Hesitantly they entered as if afraid Voldemort might emerge from the gloom, each enthralled by the very atmosphere of the room. This had been the dark lord's private quarters, he hid things he deemed of great value here…were he here, he'd kill them all in one fell stroke.

Marshal cranked his neck to read the spines of the books. "Dante….wasn't that some Muggle? Greek mythology—Merlin's ghost, he's got a load of Muggle rubbish!" He moved off to look at the jewelry. Muggle or not, it was worth money.

Severus took his spot, anxiously examining this treasure trove. One day he'd love to scrutinize these volumes, but right now he had a mission. _Thomas Mann—"Joseph and His Brothers"_…what would a perverse megalomaniac want with a Biblically based story? Ah, of course! It symbolically explored the descent into and return from the underworld!

At the end of the top shelf lay a thin, tattered book covered in a thick layer of dust. When Severus picked it up the decayed leather cover fell to the floor in pieces. The parchment pages seemed so fragile they would crumble if he tried to turn them, so he cast a rejuvenation spell. He couldn't repair it to its original wholeness, though it made the parchment supple instead of brittle, easier to handle.

There was no title page, so he opened it carefully and halted, his heart beating in his mouth: it was written in Old English. It had to be at least 1,000 years old! Trying to contain his excitement, he began to read.

_This manuscript is faithfully copied from the original by Wildon, apprentice of the High Priest Cylferth, in order to preserve the ancient knowledge of the Builders, chief among them the renowned Aethelred, whose wife Deorwynn set down in writing the first script of their accomplishments. What follows are the exact words of our ancestors:_

Here the writing style changed to an even more archaic form of English that Severus found far more cumbersome to decipher.

_I, Deorwynn, send warning to all who would approach the Archway. Unless one is properly schooled and prepared, it brings Death. We, the builders of the Arch and the Veil between the worlds, do not wish to cause destruction. Our purpose is to cross the barrier between Life and Death in order to commune with those who have passed from this realm before us._

Severus' hands began to tremble so violently he nearly dropped the text.


	69. Go Into The Light

Death Eater No More—Chapter Sixty-Nine (Go Into The Light)

**July 15, 1999**

"_Apparentia Obiti?"_ inquired Aline, crossing her arms and tilting her head. Her lips held the hint of a smug smile.

"Huh?" Severus looked up from the potion he'd been tending since the previous night. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, his face drawn and weary, his hair hanging in greasy strands that, for several months, had no longer been the norm. Catching sight of the rolled up formula she clutched in her hand he answered, "It means Appearance of Death."

"I am aware of what it means, my love," cooed Aline, approaching him slowly as she scrutinized the ingredients laying on the table, silently gauging what yet remained to be done. "It's Latin, which is precisely my point. You got this formula from that ancient manuscript, which is written in _Old English_, and I don't recall seeing a name for the potion when I studied the text."

"I named it myself when I copied it onto that parchment, _sweetheart_," Severus replied, returning a smugness of his own. "You don't mind, do you? I know how anal you are about naming things and keeping them organized."

If he'd meant to get a rise out of her, it hadn't worked. Aline started to chuckle and laid the paper on the table. "I'll get by. Here you go, the ingredient you've been waiting for." From her robe Aline produced three tiny vials, each containing a thick red liquid. "Jacinta's and Gloria's samples are about an hour old, I've placed a stasis spell on them to keep the blood from coagulating. I drew my own sample right before coming in here."

Severus nodded and grunted something incoherent. When he'd mentioned to Lucius the need for virgin maiden's blood and had suggested using Hermione Granger, who incidentally refused to go away and leave the Potions master in peace, Malfoy had nearly blown an artery. No 'mudblood' would taint this formula, yadda yadda yadda. Even at such a pivotal moment the man couldn't see past his nose to the fact that all blood was equal. Fortunately Gloria and Bayly hadn't yet begun the escapades of many youths, and he'd requested and obtained the girl's cooperation.

"Severus, you're exhausted. Why don't you let me take over? You go to bed." The witch moved over and put an arm around his waist and nuzzled on his chest.

"Just let me add this blood, then it can brew for a few hours before the next step is due," he said. Notably he didn't deny how tired he was.

Taking an eyedropper in one hand, he uncorked the first vial, drew the blood up into the dropper, and painstakingly measured three full, rounded drops into the cauldron. He set them down, fetched a fresh eyedropper, and repeated the process with the second vial, then the third. The liquid in the cauldron hissed and sputtered, then turned a murky green.

Gobsmacked, Severus turned to Aline. For the first time since she'd known him, he looked confused and uncertain about his skills. "I don't understand. The directions specifically state that the potion should become crystal clear at this point."

Together they bent over the parchment, poring over each detail. The wizard started at the beginning, word for word going through the steps, shaking his head in disgusted disbelief. For the most part Aline had not witnessed her fiancé making the concoction, but no matter how tired he was or how distracted, upset, or anything else, she trusted him implicitly to follow a formula to the letter. Therefore, something had to be wrong with the _formula itself._

"Severus, go get some sleep. I'll analyze Deorwynn's writing again, see if we made a mistake in translation," Aline offered softly.

"I believe that's the likely explanation," he agreed in a rough voice. The cold, drafty air in the dungeons during the night of work had given him an irritated throat. He kissed her gently on the forehead, then on the lips. He walked out as Bayly was coming in, and merely greeted the youth with a gruff, "Morning."

"What's wrong, Professor Conn?" asked Bayly. He meandered over and poked his nose into the cauldron. Somehow he doubted this thickened mess was what they'd been shooting for.

"The potion isn't turning out right," she said simply. What else could she say? Until they figured out the reason, whether human error, defective ingredients, or an incorrect formula, she had no answer to give. She sighed, marched over to her desk, yanked open the drawer holding the precious manuscript, and reverently placed it on top of the desk beside the translated parchment.

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"Oh good, Professor, you're here!" exclaimed Gloria, rushing in at the woman who'd barely glanced up from studying for well over two hours. A furtive look around assured her Professor Snape was not in the vicinity. The anxious expression on her face bespoke more than a desire for idle girl-talk.

"Gloria, what are you doing here?" Aline pried her eyes from the old script.

The young witch swallowed hard, fidgeting from one foot to the other, then she inexplicably burst into tears. "It's my fault it didn't work! Bayly told me what happened and I feel so bad!"

"Gloria!" Aline waited for the girl to get control of herself. "How could this possibly be your fault?"

"Be-because it says the blood of a virgin," Gloria choked out. She wiped her tears on the sleeve of her robe.

Taking on a knowing look, Aline reclined back in her chair and closed her eyes. Severus would pitch a mighty fit when he heard this! A full night and most of the previous day ruined by three drops of blood! Nonetheless, there was nothing to be gained by making the girl feel worse, so Aline shoved down her own annoyance, opened her eyes, and said as tactfully as she could manage, "You and Bayly have had sex."

Gloria wagged her head vehemently, sniffing.

Her eyes widening, Aline murmured, "There was a different boy?"

"No! I never did that, I told you!" Still sniffling, Gloria edged closer to the desk and whispered, "But sometimes when I'm snogging with Bayly, I…I kind of touch him—through his pants. I never—only with his clothes on, not—does that make me not a virgin?"

Aline bit her lip to keep from laughing and ducked her head in an attempt to seem busy reading her book. When she felt comfortable that she wouldn't dissolve into hysterical, relieved mirth, she shook her head and replied, "No, Gloria. If that's all you've done, you're still a virgin and you're not to blame that the potion failed."

_And neither is Bayly_. Aline shuddered to think of the upbraiding the boy would receive if Severus thought his apprentice had deflowered the girl, then lied about it and allowed him to waste all the time and ingredients and frustration on making the potion. He'd berate the poor lad up and down the corridors until he felt an inch high.

"So…so what's the problem then?" Gloria ventured.

There was a thoughtful pause before Aline answered. "I'm not positive, I'll need to consult with Professor Snape, but if it's what I _think_ it is—let's just say, 'Eww'."

Gloria crinkled her brow. "What could be that bad?"

"The text says '_the blood of three virgin maidens'._ Since blood from our veins isn't working, and since ancient British peoples tended to be less squeamish about bodily functions, I'm thinking it means menstrual blood," stated Aline bluntly.

Gloria gawped at her as if waiting for the punch line to the joke, then echoed the woman's sentiments. "Ewww!"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

**July 27, 1999**

Necessity dictated a nearly two-week break before beginning the potion anew, as the participants were constrained by the varying monthly cycles of the 'virgin maidens'. The wait had seemed interminable, especially for Lucius, who had virtually isolated himself in the manor with his sons. He'd requested one visitor only: Harry Potter. Understandably, Harry was reluctant to attend the meeting, though Snape had counseled him about Lucius' state of mind and the reason for the meeting, assuring him he was in no danger. Somehow he hadn't felt comforted.

After the conference with Malfoy, Harry's spirits lifted. His actions could make a world of difference to the Malfoy clan and, with any luck, society at large. Malfoy hadn't said so, but Harry knew that with Narcissa gone Lucius was far less inclined to be generous to the hospital, to Hogwarts, to various charities. Places that relied on his donations were already starting to feel the pinch, and Narcissa had been gone slightly less than a month. With that in mind, Harry loped down the corridor beyond the Atrium in the Ministry of Magic on his way to speak with Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Let me get this straight." Shacklebolt leaned forward over his desk, his face a mask of incredulity. "You want me to give permission for Lucius Malfoy to commit suicide by going through the Veil?"

"Well, yes—no." Harry screwed up his face. Why had this conversation seemed easier in his mind? "Someone has to _throw_ Malfoy through the Veil, and that's what Snape and Draco will be there for. Your aurors will be alerted when they draw near the arch, but you can't arrest them for murder."

Kingsley looked more puzzled than ever. "Tell me again why someone has to toss Malfoy in. I realize a lot of people would _offer_ to do it, but it remains illegal."

"No, I'm not explaining this right. Let me start again." Harry took a deep breath and tried to organize in his brain everything Snape and Malfoy had told him. "Right then. Severus Snape has an old book that contains directions on how to go into the Veil and come back out alive. There's chanting and potions and I don't know what else, but Malfoy will be like he's dead. They will have to throw him in."

"And he's going in to look for Narcissa?"

"Yes. It's the only chance to rescue her, you've got to make sure your aurors don't interfere," Harry pleaded, surprising himself with his sincerity. "Mrs. Malfoy saved my life; let them try to save hers."

"Would you be there to keep an eye on things, or is this some ploy to bring back his Death Eater buddies from the other side?" Kingsley mused aloud.

"I…I can be there, sure." Harry grinned at the tall man. "And hey—if Lucius goes through the Veil and doesn't come back, it's still a 'win' situation for _us_."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

**July 30, 1999**

More than two days and nights after beginning the potion once more, sleeping and tending the brew in shifts, Aline and Severus were nearly through. They had but one step remaining: _the fresh body part taken from a live person, complete with its flesh and blood._ This had posed the most difficult aspect of the formula. Had the builders been violent beasts who could wrench an arm from an unwilling victim? The whole premise of their work—to commune with the dead, to learn from the past to improve the future—suggested this was not the case. Did the builders willingly sacrifice a finger or toe as Lucius was now prepared to do? This seemed more likely, though it would inevitably limit the number of times one might cross the Veil.

Whatever the case, for Deorwynn had been silent as to where this particular ingredient came from, Severus had refused Lucius' offer for the moment. He had what he needed—or would have it soon. Without Malfoy's knowledge, Aline had made a suitable arrangement with Hermione, whose dentist parents had access to a great number of 'fresh body parts'.

Aline held up the tiny jar to the light to gaze at the extracted wisdom tooth, its long, gnarled roots dotted with miniscule bits of tissue and considerably more blood. "Thank you, Hermione. I don't think we need to tell Lucius it came from a Muggle."

Hermione smiled, enjoying the vision of Malfoy's head exploding when he found out the truth. But no, she must forego such delightful thoughts. She'd come to help Narcissa, not to give Lucius a stroke. "I won't say anything. And you're very welcome."

"Thank you, Miss Granger," said Severus tightly. It galled him to be indebted to the wench not only for the tooth, but for the very clue of how to break the final ward on Voldemort's secret lair. Not that he'd ever tell her about that in a million years! Too much was riding on the place remaining clandestine, the stash of treasures remaining undisturbed. If the Ministry got wind of it they'd take everything, they might even catch one or more of the 'dead' Death Eaters there training, and wouldn't _that_ be fun to try to explain! He'd have years to do so in Azkaban!

Severus took the jar Aline handed to him, unscrewed the lid, and gently finessed the tooth out onto a spatula. At his signal Aline cranked up the flame under the cauldron; just as the mixture became a turquoise, bubbling concoction and started to spit a bluish mist into the air, he lowered the tooth into the cauldron. Immediately the mist dissipated, the liquid turned pink, and the boiling stopped.

"Is it supposed to do that?" Hermione gulped, truly worried and horrified that Malfoy had been right and only wizard parts would do.

"Yes, it's fine," Aline reassured her. "In a minute it'll go purple, and then we're done." As self-confident as she sounded, no one could know the turmoil roiling in her stomach. If the potion didn't work this time, it would take another month to brew it again. She honestly didn't know if Severus could keep Lucius from the Veil that long.

As predicted, the potion deepened its hue until it reached a rich, dark plum color. Severus removed it from the flame and set the cauldron on the table, then bent down to blow out the flame. He scooped out a spoonful of the liquid and drained it into a clear beaker, then lifted it up and swirled it around the bottom of the glass. Together he and Aline examined it briefly; they looked at each other and bobbed their heads.

"That's the way it's described," Aline commented.

"Then I expect we're finished," Severus replied. He felt no relief, no joy; the thought of what was to come filled him with trepidation: the true test of whether they had properly translated the text, the true test of whether the potion worked…the possibility that he was sending the man he loved like a brother to his doom.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

**July 31, 1999**

Gathered round the base of the platform upon which stood the archway, Lucius, Draco, Harry, and Aline listened to Severus reviewing the final instructions with the elder Malfoy. The air crackled with anticipation tempered by fear, felt even by the half dozen aurors stationed about the highest level of the room. In the event it turned out to be a Death Eater trick, they were prepared.

"Lucius, once you drink this potion you'll appear to be dead, yet you ought to be able to enter unscathed and move freely on the other side of the Veil. When you're ready to return, put your hand through—"

"Why can't he just walk back through?" interrupted Harry.

Now wasn't the time to put the Pea-brained Wonder in his place. They had a mission to accomplish, and that mission could be thwarted or destroyed by a single word from the brat. Severus avoided looking at Potter as he said, "When his hand reaches our side of the Veil, he will become like dead again and unable to move. We'll need to pull him through."

"And Narcissa," Lucius interjected as if they could possibly have forgotten the very reason for this whole excursion.

"Of course," Severus agreed.

"Time is of the essence," Aline reminded Lucius. "From what we've read in the manuscript, you'll have about two hours—our time. We have no idea how time flows on the other side."

Severus faced Lucius and took him by the shoulders, squeezing slightly; his black eyes bored into the grey. "If you don't come back in the allotted time, you don't come back. Since that is not a viable option, you must not loiter."

"I understand that," Lucius replied softly, clasping a hand on his friend's arm. No words were required to understand the depth of affection the touch connoted. "What comes next?"

"The chant."

Lucius rolled his eyes. He'd been hoping to avoid that. "Why do I have to do that? It's inane."

"I imagine it's part of the spell. Do you want it to work or not?" challenged the Potions master, dark brows raised.

"But I don't know how to pronounce Old English!" protested Lucius. He loathed feeling like an idiot, especially in front of people. Going into the depths of hell or not, he was a Malfoy and that mandated a certain dignity. "Can't you read it for me?"

"I'm afraid not. I wrote it phonetically for you." Severus produced a folded parchment from a pocket of his robe and held it out to the man. "There are very few anymore who can read it, you needn't feel inadequate."

Malfoy took the paper, got up onto the dais facing the arch, and knelt with his head bowed. His eyes scanned the words a few times, then he read aloud:

_"Ic buga and ascia eow ceosan min tam neawest and giefan me haele, gesund geanhwurf to min geagnod lif."_ (I bow and ask you to accept my meek presence and to give me safe, sound return to my own life.)

He dropped the paper on the platform and held out his hand for the potion. Severus deposited the vial in his palm, then without turning from the arch Lucius murmured, "I love you, Draco. If I don't come back, take care of your brother and listen to Severus."

Draco's already pinched face took a decided turn for the worse. He paled to nearly perfect white, and in a trembling voice he answered, "I love you, too, Father. But you're coming back, so I won't need to listen to my godfather." To his credit, he made no move to stop his sire from what he must do. He was all too familiar with the concept of sacrifice to save those you love.

Lucius tilted his head back and drained the potion in two swallows, then let his arm fall to his side where the vial clinked to the floor out of his grip. Moments later a dark cloud formed round him, compressing itself and clinging to his body like a second skin. He felt a sudden, extreme cold inside and out, his features became chalky. With limbs acting like dead weights, he attempted to find a pulse in his wrist. There was none.

"You'd hardly expect your heart to beat if you're dead," quipped Severus in a tone meant to lighten the mood.

Primarily because he was no longer able to move or breathe, Lucius said nothing. His stiff body teetered and crashed over on his side.

"Uncle Severus!" Draco exclaimed, lurching for the platform. "Is he dead?"

Severus merely shook his head. He made a come-hither waving motion with his fingers at the young man to indicate it was time. They mounted the platform, each took one of Lucius' arms, and hauled him back to his knees.

Because no one had bothered to explain the full process to Harry, he blurted, "Why don't you just levitate him through?"

Aline elbowed him in the side to shut him up and whispered, "Using magic on him may affect the entire spell. The text explicitly says to cast the priest—or Lucius, in this case—through the Veil."

Draco and Snape leaned Lucius forward until his hair brushed the gently flapping black cloth, steadying him with their hands on his shoulders; they each grabbed hold of a leg, and heaved the dead weight at the Veil. Lucius' head went in first, but their toss had been insufficient to propel him fully inside. Moving quickly to his feet, they pushed on the soles of his shoes until the momentum sucked the wizard into the arch and he was gone.

Lucius flopped over the barrier and rolled down onto a polished wooden floor. With a wheezing gasp he drew his first breath in the abode of the dead. It took a minute for his corpse-like body to loosen up enough to let him open his eyes, wiggle his fingers, and finally sit up. He gazed around in wonder at the endless expanse.

"Lucius?"

That voice! He twisted and jumped to his knees in one lithe movement. Standing not far off was the exact double of the portrait over his mantle. He leapt to his feet and ran with heedless abandon headlong at the woman and, for the first time since he was two years old, buried himself in her embrace. "Mama," he cried, unable to halt an unexpected wetness in his eyes.

Thalia flung her arms around the now grown up toddler she'd left behind so long ago. Despite her petite physique, she rocked him back and forth like her baby. Soon they were joined by Abraxas, who looked to be the same age as his wife, mid-twenties. He gave Lucius a nearly bone crushing hug, though Thalia refused to move aside, instead clinging to her boy.

Abraxas pulled away in confusion. This wasn't right; Lucius was _breathing_. "Lucius…son…you're not supposed to be here. You're not dead."

"Who's not dead?" inquired a tall blonde woman of about twenty-one, so alike to Lucius in her features that there was no mistaking her.

"Aphrodite," Lucius greeted her with a smile, extending an arm to his only sister. Tears rolled down his cheeks unchecked, unnoticed. When another young woman appeared beside Aphrodite, Lucius did a double take. He stared unabashedly before asking hesitantly, "Niki?"

"Yes, Uncle Lucius," grinned the girl, jumping at him for her snuggles.

"But—but you were only a baby when you died," exclaimed the man. It didn't stop him from squeezing her in his arms before breaking down into full-fledged weeping for those he'd not ever expected to see again, for the reminder of the heartache he'd endured at their loss. And there was yet one more…

Approaching at a leisurely pace was a young man in his late teens or perhaps a bit older, smiling with no hint of the smirk he'd worn so often when Lucius knew him. It was his older brother, the boy who'd died at seventeen. "Hey there, little brother!"

"Cassius," Lucius croaked, overwhelmed by all the reunions with his loved ones. Despite the dire warnings to be quick, Lucius found himself strangely not caring about the clock as he immersed himself in his family and listened to them talk for the sake of hearing them talk, hugged them again and again as they fussed over him. Here in this nether world he had a sense of well-being, a sense that things of the other realm didn't matter. He lost all track of time, of obligations, of his task. He had a niggling sensation that he should be finding Narcissa, yet it seemed he had all the time in the world, there was no rush.

"Isn't that sweet?" pronounced a taunting voice from near the arch. Lucius looked over to see Sirius Black, arms crossed and propped back against the arch, watching the Malfoys. "Only you're too old, so I know you're not dead. I also know what you came here for."

"How would you know that?" snarled Lucius, startled by his own surge of hostility.

"Because I have her."

(A/N: My apologies for the total lack of proper grammar with the Old English. It is far more complicated than its modern counterpart, and I have no clue how to conjugate it.)


	70. Emancipation

Death Eater No More—Chapter Seventy (Emancipation)

(A/N: For those who have not read my fic 'The Beginnings of a Death Eater', Cassius' death is explained. Aphrodite and Niki are featured characters.)

**July 31, 1999**

For many people, the gut reaction to seeing Bellatrix Black Lestrange approaching in a slinky saunter was blatant intimidation…fear, even. Remus Lupin was no exception. The fact that Bella couldn't in reality hurt him—death had sort of put an end to all that nonsense—fled to the back of his mind as his stomach did funny little flippies below his rib cage.

No doubt aware of the reaction she inspired in others, Bella clicked up in her spiky heels, halted a meter from Narcissa's limp body, and crossed her arms over her chest, her hooded eyes menacingly appraising the younger, spryer version of Lupin. "I'm sick of the formalities. Hand her over, wolf boy."

Remus planted his feet and tried to look tough. He'd never been very good at that in life, death hadn't made an improvement. Short of turning into a wolf, which was no longer an option despite the witch's barb, his only recourse was in words. "You," he squeaked, sensing his face go hot. He cleared his throat. "You can't make me. Sirius said to keep her here because you can't be trusted."

"'You can't make me'," mimicked Bella, aiming a kick at the man and missing. "For crying out loud, what do you think we're going to do, divide her up and eat her? If we'd planned to harm her, we'd have done so last time we had her!" snorted the woman, tapping her pump- enclosed foot impatiently.

"Yeah, give her up," Regulus chimed in.

Remus whirled in a circle, twisting his neck frantically. Where had Regulus come from? Were there more? Was it a full scale attack of the Blacks while Sirius was gone? He backed up till his heel struck Narcissa's calf. "Why can't you just leave her alone? You and Sirius keep fighting over her, dragging her back and forth like a pawn in a game."

"_Like_ a pawn?" Bella crowed and started to cackle. "This is a family matter, something you evidently can't comprehend, but I can hardly blame you. You're only following the orders of your pack leader, as befits a _dog_."

Before the man could come up with a decent retort (though in all fairness it was unlikely to happen anytime soon) Bella shoved him aside with one hard swipe of her arm, sending him reeling away. With Regulus backing her up, there was absolutely nothing he could do…well, he could fight if he wanted to lose quite badly; thus, he stood there a picture of angst watching as the youth bent down toward Narcissa. Reg hadn't quite got situated to cradle the unconscious woman when a familiar, extremely welcome voice boomed out.

"Regulus, don't you dare!" The relief washing over Remus was palpable as James came trotting up. "Sirius told us to guard her from the Black clan."

Ever so slowly, as if only now noticing his presence, Bella's head cranked over in Potter's direction, Slytherin sneer firmly in place. "Ah, the blood traitor who holds the affection of our _dear_ relative. The mutt seems to have forgotten he's part of the 'Black clan'. But then, he never was very bright. Case in point: look at the sad sacks he hangs out with."

If James replied, she didn't hear it. All at once Bella stopped, gaze concentrated on an unseen spot, as if listening to a voice no one else could hear. With a majestic toss of her head, she spun on her heel. One hand waved imperiously at Regulus. "Someone's come, I feel like I should be there. Are you coming or do you prefer to bask in the insipid discourse of the Gryffindorks?"

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"What do you mean 'you have her'?" growled Lucius. He took a few steps in Sirius' direction. "If you've hurt my wife, I'll—"

"Kill me?" interrupted Sirius, a nasty smirk marring his handsome face. He began to laugh before choking out, "My darling cousin beat you to it!" He howled some more, then with a satisfied sigh he pushed off from the arch where he was leaning.

"Where is Narcissa?" Out of habit Lucius' wand found its way into his fingers, poised for use. Lucius had no compunctions about hexing the hell out of Sirius in life or death.

"Tsk, tsk. Those things don't work here," Sirius smiled. To prove his point, he removed his own wand from his pocket, aimed it at Lucius, and barked _Expelliarmus_. Nothing happened. "See?"

Lucius could take the blood traitor's word for it—hardly the wise decision. More likely Sirius' wand hadn't worked because he was no longer a member of the living crowd, so Malfoy performed his own test with a _stupefy_ that should have knocked Black on his arse. As luck would have it, his foe chortled gleefully at the futile attempt, making Lucius grit his teeth. Death hadn't made the ponce any more likable!

"You!" screeched a voice like nails on a chalkboard over an amplifying system. _Click, click, click, click._

No, dear God no, it couldn't be. Oh hell, of course it could—the bitch was dead, she would be here! This whole experience was turning into a stellar nightmare and he'd only just gotten here; it simply wouldn't be complete without the psycho prostitute and her grating voice, those mincing steps in the whorishly high spikes…

Steeling himself, Lucius twirled round to face the woman; always better to keep your enemy in view, he'd found. "Why, Bellatrix, what a pleasure to see you."

"Cut the crap, blondie. It was never a pleasure to see you in life, and it's no picnic now. Why do I feel summoned for _you_?" snapped Bella.

"Maybe that strong, special bond we share," drawled Malfoy dryly. He cocked his head, observing her curiously. She looked different—not just younger like almost everybody else, _different_. Ah—that was it!

"What are you gawking at, pervert?" she demanded.

"You seem less insane than I'd become accustomed to," said Lucius bluntly. "A welcome change, though you remain thoroughly repellent in demeanor."

"Sod off, wanker." Bella whirled to storm off. Her head swiveled in a jerky, irritated manner. "Regulus! Scared him off, did you, blondie?" With a rude hand gesture, she marched away.

At the mention of Regulus, Lucius automatically scanned the area. Of the whole Black tribe (Narcissa aside and not counting Andromeda before running off with her mudblood), Regulus was the only one he'd ever really liked. He suddenly felt rather dejected; he'd never told the kid how he felt, had even at times been mean to him—for his own good, though it was doubtful Regulus saw it that way. The kid had no concept of how to guard his mouth and thoughts against the dark lord, Lucius had only been trying to help. Still, he wished he could alter the past, make things better. He honestly didn't blame Regulus for avoiding him.

Turning to Sirius, his features pensive, he said, "Look, Black, whatever you think of me, Narcissa is your cousin. She was decent to you, that you can't deny."

There was a momentary pause where the habitual smirk dropped off Sirius' face. "I know. That's why I've been guarding her from the rest of that nutcase family. I can take you to her, but what are you gonna do?"

"Take her back where she belongs!" exclaimed Lucius in exasperation. What did the idiot think, he'd come here risking life and limb for a not-so-amiable conversation with a man he despised?

"She can't walk, Malfoy, she can't do anything," said Sirius quietly. If Lucius believed he had true emotions, he'd think Sirius felt unhappy about it. "Something's wrong with her, she doesn't move."

It was Lucius' turn to nod sadly. "She was cursed by goblins who hate me."

"Merlin's beard, Malfoy! Half the wizarding population and goblins, too! Is there anybody who doesn't hate you?" blurted Sirius.

Lucius narrowed his eyes to mere slits. _One more, Black, just one more and I'll tear you a new one._ "I need to take Narcissa through the Veil. Where is she?"

Sirius shrugged sheepishly. "Reg and I already tried that. We threw her at the Veil, but she bounced off."

"_You threw her_?!" Lucius bellowed, lunging at Sirius, who scurried around the other side of the arch. "If you weren't dead, I would kill you!"

"Aw come on, Lucius," murmured a gentle voice from behind him, causing his heart to skip a beat. "We weren't trying to harm her, only put her back where she belonged. It was more of a _toss_, really…not in the dirty sense."

Lucius rolled his eyes even as he smiled wide. "I should hope not!" He turned, arm raised to embrace the young man, who instinctively ducked what he assumed from past experience to be a blow. Chagrined, Lucius said quietly, "I'm not going to hit you, Regulus."

"Oh." Regulus grinned and moved in for an clumsy hug, then he abruptly pushed away. "Sirius, he's got to get Narcissa out of here. I have to go do something, you take him to her." With that he bounded away, leaving Lucius with the impression of the scatterbrained boy he'd known so long ago.

"Guess it's you and me, Malfoy." Sirius pointed off to his left with a jerk of his thumb. "Follow me."

Before trailing after Black, Lucius rushed to his mother and whispered, "Stay here, wait for me. I want to say goodbye before I leave." Then he trotted off to catch up with the other man.

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An hour had passed—a long, gloomy, relatively silent hour. Severus and Aline sat huddled together on the dais, their feet dangling over the edge, their hands clasped a bit too tightly as they waited helplessly. Draco paced around the platform, looking up every few seconds for the hand that didn't come through, and every time a piece of him seemed to wither. Wisps of blond hair stuck to his forehead from nervous sweat. Harry had gone to sit on one of the benches lining the lowest tier of the room, the only person besides the aurors above who honestly didn't care if Lucius came back. For Narcissa's sake he hoped so, yet Malfoy had been his enemy for so long it felt unnatural to wish him well.

"So…how long do we wait?" Harry mused to no one in particular.

"Until he comes back!" snarled Draco, whirling on Potter, his face set in a fierce expression of worry and sudden ire. His usual disgusted sneer at Potter's presence was absent, his fists balled tight as he spoke. "You'd like nothing better than to leave him in there! I don't know why you're even here."

"Because Minister Shacklebolt asked me to be," replied Harry, lifting his chin. His mouth opened to say something more; the smoldering glare emanating from Snape made him shut it again, and he dropped his face to study the floor.

Severus stared down Potter until he clamped that intractable gob of his. The older wizard harbored no illusions that the Wonder Brat was here out of benevolence in any form. If anything, Shacklebolt had probably let Potter come so that if Lucius failed to return, the little bugger would gain a measure of satisfaction. The very notion made Severus grind his teeth to keep from telling Potter and the aurors exactly what he thought of them.

The only reason he could fathom for aurors to be present at all was that Shacklebolt suspected foul play on Malfoy's part. Never mind the fact that he, Severus Snape, who'd spent the last twenty bloody years of his life combating Voldemort, was the one leading this cause! No, his sacrifices never mattered to any of the self-righteous prigs who ruled the Ministry! Did they truly think he'd be in league with a plan to cause more trouble that he'd then have to fight? It was patently absurd. Perhaps none of them were capable of seeing beyond their myopic vision of a conspiracy theory that Malfoy was up to no good, for it was a well known _fact_ that Malfoys leaned toward strife. Snape let out a light, derisive snort.

Aline glanced down for the thirtieth time at the delicate gold wristwatch she wore. It wasn't time yet to panic, but she wholly understood Draco's fear. His mother was lost forever unless Lucius saved her, and if Lucius didn't return for whatever reason, the Malfoy boys would be orphans. If that happened, she'd be partially responsible because she'd helped translate the text and brew the potion. She swallowed a lump in her throat and squeezed more firmly on Severus' hand.

Draco had resumed his pacing. The brief altercation with Potter had only served to agitate him further, and his gaze remained almost constant on the Veil. What was taking Father so long? What if he couldn't find Mother? He'd search and search until it was too late for either of them, and then what? How was Draco supposed to get along without his parents' guidance—while raising his baby brother? Hot tears burned his eyes and he deliberately turned his back to the others: _a Malfoy doesn't cry in public._ He bit his lip so hard it drew blood, but it brought his focus back from his fatalistic fantasy.

"How long has it been?" Draco inquired, keeping a level tone with great difficulty.

"A little over an hour," answered Aline. She wanted to say not to worry, everything would be fine, Lucius would be back soon. But she couldn't. What if Lucius didn't make it back? Platitudes helped nothing, and Draco was too clever, he'd see through them anyway.

Severus twisted around to view his godson. Not for the first time, he cursed himself for permitting this, for _orchestrating_ it! They hadn't tried the potion before letting Lucius go in, they had no real verification of whether it even worked. He'd let Lucius manipulate him into doing this because he loved the man, he loved Draco and Ladon…he loved Narcissa. But had he made everything worse, had he got Lucius killed? No. He couldn't let himself think this way, not unless circumstances said there was no other answer. And he couldn't sit here letting Draco think this way, either.

"Look at me, Draco." The young man stiffened, hesitated, then slowly turned just far enough to meet his godfather's eyes. "Your father is an intelligent man. When he's got Narcissa, he will let us know. He would not wish you to suffer unduly."

"But…but what if he can't find her?" The boy's voice rose in pitch, the great beads of tears perched in his eyes finally bowing to gravity and lapping down his cheeks. "He won't come back without her." Left unsaid, screaming in the heavy silence, were the words, '_And he'll die'._

"I refuse to believe Lucius Malfoy is foolhardy enough to wander aimlessly in the nether world until he becomes a part of it," insisted the Potions master. "I must believe he will return soon."

Also unspoken, hidden in a part of Severus' heart that ached at the thought, were the words, '_with or without Narcissa'._ Although Lucius' wife remained the light of his soul, he could not—would not—leave his children orphans if he could possibly avoid it. Severus looked past Draco to the Veil, unconsciously willing his friend to ram an arm through. He had to come back. He had to.

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It had seemed like such a long trek on the journey to find Narcissa; the return trip, carrying his beloved wife cuddled in his arms like a sleeping child, had been both laborious and glorious. He couldn't stop from kissing her unresponsive face as he walked, while his heart sang and broke in one note. All at once he came to an abrupt halt near the arch. Sirius, trailing behind him in an oblivious meandering gait, smacked into him, almost knocking Lucius off balance so he nearly dropped the woman.

"Watch it, Black!" he hissed.

"Sorry," muttered Sirius. He came up alongside the other man to stare in bemused wonder at the small crowd gathered there with Reg. To his brother he said, "What're you doing, arranging a send off?"

Regulus ignored him. "Lucius, we've had Narcissa for a while, and when these folks heard of her they got really curious. I told them if anybody else came through alive, I'd let them know."

The apparent leader stepped forward, a fortyish man whose long, reddish brown hair was plaited into several braids and bound with strips of cloth and leather. His multi-colored tunic would have seemed out of place anywhere but here or in a circus…or maybe Dumbledore's closet.

Extending a hand to Lucius, which he quickly realized the blond man could not take with the burden he was carrying, the man made a graceful bow and rose to meet Lucius' grey eyes with a piercing cobalt blue of his own. "Regulus tells me you are Lucius Malfoy, here to rescue your wife. You are the first man in many centuries to venture alive through the Veil on a mission. We feared the book of the old ways had been lost forever."

"It was, so to speak," Lucius answered, shifting Narcissa's weight in his arms. "Then a very dark wizard somehow found it and hid it away. My friends broke through his enchantments to acquire the book."

"You mean Voldemort?" exclaimed Regulus, wide eyed. At the warning fake smile Lucius cast in his direction, he eased closer to the little group and closed his mouth.

"So you are a wizard." It sounded more like a statement than a question, and for some reason the man seemed pleased—and relieved.

"Yes…aren't you? I simply assumed everyone here was." All of a sudden Lucius felt rather awkward.

"I am—or I was. Not everyone in this place was magical in life, the muggles are here as well," explained the redhead. "Forgive my lack of manners. I am Aethelred, this is my wife Deorwynn." He drew an arm about the waist of the tall brunette in a plain forest green tunic who stood beside him; she, too, bowed.

_Aethelred_? Had he heard that correctly? The name ignited a spark of recognition in Lucius' memory and he burst out in excitement and a bit of doubt, "Aethelred? The builder of the arch and Veil over 1500 years ago?"

The man nodded and smiled, the skin crinkling around his eyes exuding a hint of mischief behind the solemnity. "You've obviously heard of me, though I alone did not build them. We five joined out magicks together for such a momentous undertaking." He motioned for the other three to come forward, a woman and two men, all dressed in a similar fashion to Aethelred and Deorwynn. "May I introduce Aldercy, Cenweard, and Gary." Each of them bowed politely in turn.

Alright, Lucius admittedly was no expert in ancient British names, but he was willing to bet a good many galleons that one particular name was bogus. He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as he did so. "_Gary_?"

Aethelred shrugged almost apologetically while the individual in question gave a roguish grin. "His name was Aelfgar. For reasons unknown he prefers 'Gary', so we humor him. The name has survived remarkably well over the centuries, unlike my own."

"Excuse me if I sound boorish, but if you're the ones who wrote the manuscript in that God-awful language no normal person can comprehend—no offense—why can I understand you now?" For a split second Lucius entertained the thought that he had actually died when he crossed the Veil.

The redhead shrugged again, smirking this time. "No offense taken. We all understand each other here, regardless of language."

Unexpectedly Deorwynn moved in closer to Lucius. She looked down at the still form of Narcissa, her countenance registering pity and confusion. One fine-boned hand stroked Narcissa's cheek. "What has happened that she neither lives nor dies?"

Lucius gazed down at the face he'd literally been dying to see for a month that had seemed more like a hellish year. His heart melted at her perfect porcelain skin, her perfect nose and throat and—everything. Softly he responded, "Goblins cursed her. Do you know of any countercurse for the Sleep of Death?" He raised his face in anticipation, only to have his hopes immediately dashed to the ground.

Deorwynn shook her head sorrowfully. "I'm sorry. Goblins kept to themselves in our time. I wish her—I wish both of you well."

Reluctantly, for Lucius had made it clear he didn't care for Regulus' silly questions, the young man nonetheless piped up, "Lucius, how can you take Narcissa back? We tried, remember?"

"The will of the living," said Sirius. Lucius turned his head over toward the man; he'd quite forgotten Sirius was there. "Now Bella's ludicrous comment makes sense. She said it requires _the will of a living person_ to go through the Veil. Narcissa is asleep, she can't will it to be so—"

"But Lucius can and he's holding her," Regulus finished for him. His face brightened in a smile that made him almost as handsome as his brother. "I'll miss her even though she was asleep the whole time."

"Speaking of which, I really must go," said Lucius. Over the past few minutes a sort of internal clock had made him acutely aware of his task and the limitations of time. "I wish I could stay and visit, but my time grows short."

Aethelred nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. He recognized the signs, the growing need to return; he'd traversed the Veil often enough when he was alive. His eyes held a deep sadness. "I need to talk to you before you leave, Lucius. I must ask you a favor, it is important. We builders have all agreed it must be so for the common good."

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The instant a hand thrust through the Veil, Draco recoiled backward, then he shouted, "Uncle Severus! He's coming!"

Severus scrambled away from Aline to leap up onto the dais. "Don't let your hand get past the Veil!" he thundered when he saw how close his godson was.

Only the fingers and half of the palm had made it before Lucius had become immobilized. Draco snatched the limb and pulled for all he was worth, yet the tiny area afforded little leverage. Frankly, the poor boy was afraid of popping his sire's fingers right off if he continued this way. The weight of his father and mother combined was not meant to be concentrated onto a few digits.

On the other side, Lucius stood stiff as a statue, with Narcissa slung over one shoulder to enable him to pass an arm into the Veil. This was not going well, and he only had himself to blame, though at the moment blame was the least of his worries. Aethelred had advised him to fling his arm as hard as he could, and he hadn't listened, he'd merely jammed it through. So here he was stuck between the worlds. Aside from being frightening, it was embarrassing. He couldn't even speak to beg for help.

"Why aren't they pulling from the other side?" Regulus mused to his brother as Lucius' family and the arch builders looked on in growing agitation.

"What'd you expect from Snivellus?" sneered the other Black. "Useless twat."

"Shut up! You've always picked on him," Regulus retorted. "Who do you think got Lucius through the Veil to begin with?" He grabbed a handful of Lucius' robes and began to push on his back.

Not to be outdone, and giddy with the prospect of being rid of the blond prat, Sirius squatted down to get ahold of Malfoy's ankle; with a swift yank upward, combined with Regulus' shoving, they caused Lucius to lurch forward. Now Draco and Severus both took hold of the arm projecting through and heaved. Common sense dictated that with two men pulling and two men pushing determinedly, something had to give. It gave in a big way.

Sure enough, the momentum from all four working in a synchronized pattern sucked Lucius into the Veil and spat him out the other side. He sailed with such force he nearly flew right off the platform. What no one had counted on was the tiny little problem of a dead wizard—or in this case, two dead wizards—attaching themselves to the live person being thrown between the worlds. Lucius' rigid body hurtled through the Veil with his wife over his shoulder, Regulus directly behind him clutching his robes, and Sirius still grasping his ankle. The instant the Black brothers reached the side of the living, they collapsed onto the platform, their startled eyes wide with disbelief, their bodies dead where they lay.


	71. The Quickening

Death Eater No More—Chapter Seventy-One (The Quickening)

**July 31, 1999**

Lucius burst through the Veil at breakneck speed, courtesy of Draco and Severus heaving mightily from the living side and Regulus and Sirius pushing for all they were worth on the dead side. The momentum propelled Malfoy through and sent him sailing toward the edge of the platform, barely stopped when he hurtled against Severus, who clasped him tight and teetered precariously before regaining his footing.

"Draco, take your mother." From the corner of his eye he'd noticed strange movement, but that would have to wait. Time was of the essence in performing the next spell.

As thin and fragile an appearance as Draco gave off, his lithe muscles made themselves evident as he rushed to comply with the request, gently yet easily peeling the limp woman off her husband's shoulder and laying her on the dais. Her unmoving features tore at his heart. Next to them Severus laid Lucius' rigid body, took out his wand, and murmured a quiet incantation over him.

Harry's wail of shock and sorrow went unacknowledged by the pair, one of whom at this point was too busy to truly take note that two corpses had managed to tag along for the ride through the Veil, the other too preoccupied with hugging his mother as he beseeched her to awaken.

"Severus!" Aline shrieked, falling to her knees beside Regulus and feeling for a pulse.

Her fiancé turned his head at her call to see her kneeling over what seemed to be a dead body, and his stomach lurched. His work with Lucius complete, he spun around to get a good look. There were two bodies, one face down, the other…bloody f—king hell, it couldn't be…a 25-year-old version of Sirius Black?! An involuntary cry of appalled horror erupted as a rush of bile rose in his throat. This could not be happening! How could they have gotten to this side?

He scooted over to where Harry clung to the man sobbing. The scene—despite his dislike for Potter, his outright loathing of Black, and his revulsion at the whole episode in general—made him feel rather sorry for the brat. It was just like Black, even when dead, to make life harder and more complicated for everyone else!

"Move aside," he advised Harry, tugging at the boy's arm. "We have to put him back where he belongs." Without waiting for an answer, he lifted Sirius by the armpits and started to drag him to the arch. Sirius' head lolled back to allow his sightless eyes to penetrate Snape.

"No!" screamed Harry. One shaking hand pointed his wand at the Potions master. "You're not putting him anywhere!"

Circumspectly eyeing the boy-who-lived-to-make-his-life-hell, Severus hesitated. Overwrought people tended to do rash things, and Potter was hardly a paragon of restraint to begin with. In a calm, smooth voice he intoned, "He's dead, Mr. Potter. We have to—"

"No!"

All at once his wand flew from his hand, to be plucked from the air by Aline. She made a grim attempt at a smile. "Sorry, Harry, but I can't let you harm Severus."

By now the thunderous pounding of a dozen auror feet descending the stone steps had grown impossible to ignore. Draco twisted round to see what Potter was sniveling about; his grey eyes nearly launched out of his head onto the platform. He'd seen _something_ when Father came through…he'd never dreamed it was two of his family members! He let Narcissa down gently and jumped to his feet.

"What—how—what are you doing?" he stammered at Severus.

"Trying to pitch this corpse into the Veil," responded Snape, as if the answer ought to have been patently obvious. He tilted his head in a disgusted gesture at Harry. "He objects."

Draco covered the area in two long strides, his breathing erratic. His eyes bounced back and forth in consternation from Regulus to Sirius, then settled on his godfather. "Let them alone."

"We can't leave them like this," Severus uttered through a clenched jaw. Had the entire populace lost what little minds they had? What was it about dead bodies that made them all warm and fuzzy?

No less astounded than Harry and Snape at the fact that he was actually agreeing with Potter, Draco continued, "He's my cousin—they're my cousins. I'm of age, I'm their closest blood relative except Mother, it's my place to say what happens to them."

_Merlin's ghost, this is just getting peachier by the minute! Now Draco is losing his marbles._ "Draco, they're dead," said Severus quietly. Did he need to draw a picture for the whole group here?

"Then how did they get here?" exclaimed Harry, dodging dirty looks from both Snape and Draco. "You said only live people can come back."

"They—they look like Mother," concurred the younger Malfoy desperately. "She's not dead, maybe they aren't, either." By the end it sounded more like a plea than a command to stop. "If that's the case, we can't kill them."

"Your mother was cursed, they were not," Severus replied patiently. Nevertheless, sensing the futility of his argument, he let Black slip from his hands to slump to the floor.

Draco failed to recognize his godfather's acquiescence and stubbornly continued to push. "We have to try to help them, too." Although only Regulus registered in his mind as worthy, he vaguely recalled his mother once reminiscing over her lost family; she'd keenly felt the loss of her sister Andromeda and cousin Sirius as blood traitors, and the death of her sweet young cousin Regulus. Now that she'd reconciled with Aunt Andy, she may be willing to settle things with Sirius as well. That should be her choice to make when she woke up. He glanced over at Harry and curled his lip. "For my sake, not yours, Potter."

Now that Harry had the backup of six aurors stationed around the dais, he felt confident no one would be throwing Sirius into the Veil. He stood up and extended a hand to Aline, who tossed him his wand. He caught it between finger and thumb and stuck it in the back pocket of his jeans. "Let me take Sirius to St. Mungo's."

Draco paused, his innate visceral antipathy toward Potter almost getting the better of him. At last he nodded as he pointed at Regulus. "Take both of them."

A quick dialogue with the female auror lurking behind him was all it took. The auror motioned to one of the men in the circle; the two of them pointed their wands at the bodies, levitated them, and slowly worked their way up the rows of stone steps with the Black brothers floating ahead like a funeral procession. Harry trotted up the steps after them, wiping tears of joy mingled with doubt and uncertainty.

By now Lucius, thanks to Severus' incantation, had regained his mobility. He sat up in time to see the Blacks drifting off. "Oh, damn it!" he muttered. This was all he needed! What was he supposed to do with two dead bodies when Draco and Potter both insisted on trying to revive them? Burial seemed an unlikely option at this point. The Potter bastard would probably build a shrine with his godfather's head as its centerpiece!

"Father!" Draco spun to his sire with excitement lighting his face. It had been such a long time since Lucius had seen him this way, it hurt him to think of informing his son there was no hope. "How did you bring my cousins back?"

"It was not intentional, I assure you. Simply put, they were helping to shove me through the Veil; evidently they didn't let go in time." He let out a heavy breath. Maybe it would be best to let the healers have a go at the Blacks, then let _them_ break the news to Draco. One hand reached out to his darling wife to caress her face. He'd so deeply hoped she'd wake up merely by passing through the arch, but obviously it hadn't been so. The sadness gripping his heart like a vise tightened another notch. "We need to find a way to break this curse."

Aline came forward to stand beside Severus. She could honestly say she'd never before been witness to such an incredibly odd family reunion. "Do you think the incantation to revive Lucius might work on her?"

"It can't hurt, can it?" added Draco, who'd resumed his position next to his mother.

"There's no harm in trying," answered Severus glumly. If it worked, it would be a miracle of the highest order, and miracles like that weren't handed out lightly. The spell was meant to reverse the effects of the potion Lucius drank…Narcissa hadn't drunk the potion. Nonetheless, he got down on one knee at the witch's side and recited the incantation again. As expected, nothing happened. "Lucius, let's take her to the hospital."

His friend said nothing. What was there left to say when he felt empty, drained? Gathering his wife in his arms, he rose with little effort. Draco hopped off the platform and stretched out his arms to his father, who carefully transferred the precious cargo into the young man's grasp.

Draco immediately whirled and headed up the stone steps, Aline keeping pace with him, and the aurors finally backing off to follow. Last of all Lucius dragged himself up the steps very slowly behind Severus, who recognized the man's distress and hung back to be near him. Not for the first time, he wished he were gifted at consoling people.

When he'd reached a distance far enough from the arch to avoid flying debris, Lucius turned back, aimed his wand, and uttered a phrase in Old English. One pillar of the arch exploded, sending chunks of rock flying in every direction. The Veil shuddered, wavered, and as the remaining stone of the arch crumbled in slow motion into a heap of rubble, the Veil tore in a jagged line from top to bottom and fluttered to the floor.

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"As I've told the aurors, Aethelred made me promise to destroy the arch," Lucius said wearily. Despite being pent up in an interrogation cell, he sat primly upright on the hard wooden chair, hands clasped on the table in front of him, and repeated his answer to the Minister himself—upon hearing of Narcissa's rescue and the arch's demise, Kingsley had literally come running.

Shacklebolt glanced at Severus, the only one permitted to remain as witness. "You know of this 'Aethelred'?"

Severus nodded, his dark eyes mesmerizing the other man with their sheer blankness. From his outward calm now, one couldn't guess that only ten minutes ago he'd been flabbergasted and excited to learn his best friend had met not only Aethelred, but the other ancient builders as well. "He was the primary builder of the arch and Veil."

"Actually, they pooled their magicks," Lucius stated blandly, staring straight ahead at a crack in the wall where the plaster was peeling away.

"You'll forgive me if I find this all a little—how shall I say—ludicrous?" Shacklebolt leaned back in his chair in an attempt to appear relaxed; the muscles twitching in his jaw and the vein throbbing in his forehead spoke otherwise. "I suggest we move to my office and view Mr. Malfoy's memory of his time in the other realm. Do you object, Lucius?"

"Why would I object to having you see the truth so I can go to the hospital to be with my wife?" replied Lucius coldly. Before he ever took the shot at the arch he knew he wouldn't be believed, that his fate would rest in the hands of these biased nitwits running the Ministry. However, a promise was a promise…and all things considered, he wasn't sorry he'd done it. He agreed with the builders' reasoning.

"Severus, my aurors tell me Lucius recited a spell to destroy the arch. Are you familiar with it?"

"No, I've never heard it before," admitted Snape, feeling almost treacherous for revealing information that wasn't even secret. "It was Old English; it means '_Your usefulness is ended. Be gone.'_ Might I remind you that Lucius doesn't speak or understand Old English, the only way he could have known to use this phrase is if someone taught it to him very recently."

Lucius heaved a disgruntled sigh. He didn't mind Severus telling Shacklebolt what had happened, though it peeved him how the Minister directed the question to Snape as if the perpetrator himself were not sitting right in front of his face! Then again, he really wasn't in the mood for inane chit-chat. "May we move along to your office, Minister?"

"Of course." Kingsley unfolded himself from the chair, smoothed his leopard print robe, and gestured with one large hand toward the door. The aurors would lead the way, he would follow Malfoy and Snape. In spite of all that had occurred in the last years, in spite of Snape's involvement in the war that nearly led to his death, he still wasn't sure he quite trusted the greasy-haired Potions master. And what was with his hair of late? It wasn't even greasy! That was unprecedented in the time he'd known Snape. Besides, anyone who habitually hung around with Malfoy was on his watch list.

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Shacklebolt and Snape, both having viewed Lucius' memory in the pensieve, sat back in stymied awe. He'd done it, Lucius had really made the trip into the realm of the dead, interacted with a number of people, collected his wife, and come back to the land of the living. All in less than two hours. To comprehend this feat on an intellectual level was one thing; to be there watching it, experiencing it, viewing people they knew to be deceased…for a long moment it took their breath away.

At last Kingsley looked over at Lucius, who appeared sullen and bored. He was tired of this nonsense, he needed to get to Narcissa! "Lucius, I've seen everything in your memory, but I have one small problem: I couldn't grasp a word of what Aethelred and his companions were saying. I noted that you even questioned why _you_ could understand them. What was the man's answer?"

"He said everyone understands everyone else there, regardless of language," responded Lucius, shrugging one shoulder. "Does this mean that no matter what I tell you, you won't believe me?" _How typical._ "Ask Severus, he speaks the tongue."

The Minister ran a hand over his dark chin. Snape might well lie for Malfoy, he wouldn't put it past him, and with his skill at Occlumency no one could gainsay him. The Ministry had the memory here in the pensieve, they could find another speaker of Old English later in order to verify what Malfoy and Snape said. For now, he was anxious to hear what they had to say. "Severus, would you be so kind as to run down for me the conversation between Mr. Malfoy and the arch builders?"

Severus closed his eyes, bringing himself back to that point. "They introduced themselves and talked about Narcissa, but couldn't offer any remedy for her predicament. They thought the ancient ways had been lost because in the last few centuries—"

"Several centuries," Lucius interjected.

"—_several_ centuries, no one had come through the Veil alive. It has been used for murders, executions, suicides, and lastly Narcissa's nefarious internment. Aethelred said the arch and Veil were meant for peaceful purposes, to communicate with the dead, to learn from them, but they are now a danger, they've been abused—"

"Misused," Lucius corrected him again with a straight face.

Severus paused to glare daggers at him. Damn it all, did Malfoy not comprehend he was trying to _help_ him? "It means the same thing, Lucius."

"Perhaps, but he _said_ 'misused'," replied Malfoy. Was that a smirk? It wasn't often he got to correct Snape on his own turf!

Manfully restraining himself from slapping the smirk off his friend's mouth, Severus continued, "People don't know how to use the Veil anymore and it has outlived its usefulness. He and the others were very saddened by their decision, yet they all agreed the arch must be destroyed. He made Lucius promise to do it and taught him the curse." Still a bit miffed, he shook back his black mane, crossed his arms, and growled, "Did I forget anything, Your Majesty?"

"No, that about covers it." Lucius looked considerably more cheerful than he'd been at the start of the conversation. "So as you can clearly see, Minister, Aethelred and his companions built the arch, it belonged to them. If they deemed it time to do away with their creation, that is their right, is it not?"

"Ordinarily I would have to agree," conceded Kingsley, weighing his words in light of the situation. "However, dead men and women don't usually make such requests. I'm going to discuss this with the lead members of the Wizengamot. The very most I can charge you with is destruction of a national treasure—"

"_Treasure_?" thundered Lucius, well in keeping with his spate of interruptions. Abandoning all pretense of respect, he leaned in, pounding the table with his fist as he hissed, "How dare you call that instrument of death, the implement that nearly cost me my _wife_, a _treasure_! That vile arch should have been ripped down centuries ago! That notwithstanding, it should have been properly guarded at all times to prevent the types of incidents it is famous for, most notably my wife's imprisonment within it!"

"Lucius," Severus warned, to no avail.

"_I_ ought to be the one demanding justice!" His fist slammed the wooden tabletop again; it leaped and bounced. "You take this to the Wizengamot, you show them my memory. I challenge you to prove I acted against the express wishes of the owners." At this he thrust back his chair as he rose to his feet. It lurched backward and clattered to the floor. "Unless you plan to place me under arrest, I am going to the hospital to be with my wife."

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**August 2, 1999**

For two days St. Mungo's had bustled with fierce activity as streams of healers and wannabes in Britain, and a few from beyond, came to try their hand at rousing the enigma of a woman in stasis. Even the child in her womb had been rendered death-like by the goblin curse, yet the fact that Mrs. Malfoy demonstrated no signs of decomposition and magical tests revealed brain activity showed her to be irrefutably alive.

Not so the pair of young men who'd finagled their way across the Veil with the Malfoy couple. Due exclusively to their lack of life, they'd been unable to cheat the Veil as had Lucius and Narcissa. Sirius and Regulus currently resided in caskets housed in the Malfoy cellars. At first Lucius had ordered them to be placed in the front parlor, but once a myriad of people began to visit in hopes of seeing the two back-from-the-dead-and-dead-again, he'd had the coffins moved and access to the manor restricted. When Narcissa was conscious and mobile again, he hoped to bury them in a timely manner.

Lucius had originally welcomed the notion of healers trying to save Narcissa; it hadn't taken long to become discouraged and disgusted with the whole charade. None of them knew any more how to reawaken Narcissa than he had! It was a circus, one he'd not allow his love to be part of. Thus, he'd brought her home to lie in their bed where he could protect her, where he could at least look at her.

As he stood at their bedside, his face drawn with worry and lack of sleep, he commanded, "Sisidy!"

The elf who loved her master beyond words popped in with a loud crack. "Master Malfoy wantsing Sisidy? Is Mistress Malfoy better?" She padded over, peered at Narcissa, and hung her misshapen head as tears dripped down her long nose.

"Sisidy, listen carefully. What you are about to do is perilous but essential." The house elf nuzzled against his leg and gazed up lovingly at him. Any request, no matter how dangerous, would be obeyed instantly for her Lucius. "Go to the Ministry, find and fetch Griphook the goblin for me. Let _no one_ see you."

Lucius drew his wand from his walking stick to cast a disillusion charm on her, then a second spell to create a silence bubble around her to preclude anyone hearing the noise of her apparitions. "Go."

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Sisidy wasn't afraid, even though she'd never been to the Ministry of Magic for such a purpose before. Master Lucius had ordered it, he _needed_ it, and she didn't give one fig if it was illegal…and surely it was or she wouldn't be sent in this manner. No one was aiding Mistress Malfoy to get over what those horrible goblins had done to her, and if Master Malfoy permitted it, she'd show that nasty Griphook what a house elf could do to an enemy. Grimacing, she crept along a hallway somewhere on the fifth level.

Unlike wizards, her magic allowed her to apparate through anti-apparition barriers; in the space of a few minutes she'd canvassed a good chunk of the Ministry. But what if the despicable goblin wasn't here? Her breathing rate increased; no, Master Lucius must know the beastly goblin was here somewhere, he always knew things. Her beloved master was so clever.

Thus comforted, Sisidy popped through a series of doors and halted sharply. Off to her left she spied one of the hideous creatures! She easily zipped between the goblin-reinforced bars and shoved her face right up into the other being's face. He was lying on a cot, not asleep. Her bulbous orbs scrutinized him for only a moment. Yes, this was the one, she'd seen him at the house before. He gasped when an invisible force snatched his sleeve, but his scream was lost in the trail of apparition back to the manor.

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Because it seemed gauche to torture the filthy little goblin in front of Narcissa, Lucius had sent him to a guest room, cast a silencing charm, and dove in. For several minutes he'd asked no questions, made no response to the pleas for mercy, had merely implacably subjected Griphook to numerous bouts of intense agony to soften him up for the interrogation that he intended to keep brief.

Finally, the edge taken off his fury, he lifted his wand and drawled, "I will ask you one time. If you refuse to answer or if you lie to me, I will butcher you in the most painful way I can imagine. And believe me when I say I am capable of immense flights of imagination."

"Please, no more," moaned Griphook, who lay spread-eagle on the floor, blood dripping from a cut under one eye.

"How do I reverse the curse on my wife?"

Griphook hesitated, wild eyed, his limbs twitching from the last hex he'd undergone. How had Malfoy got to him? Shacklebolt had sworn no wizard could breech their security! Was all this torture worth it just to hope for Malfoy's suffering? No one knew he was here, Malfoy really could kill him and get away with it!

He hugged his legs to his body and rocked himself in imitation of a hobby horse. "There's—there's no countercurse," he whispered before bursting into tears. This was it, Malfoy was going to murder him. The wand began to raise. "Wait! Wait, there are other ways."

The wand stopped and hovered, but did not lower.

"Um—there are some archaic magicks that can counter the curse, it's mostly been forgotten over the ages. My grandfather told me that forcing the victim to drink the blood of a unicorn foal will break it." Griphook panted from terror, quaking so hard he almost fell over from a sitting position.

For a split second of elation Lucius' soul rejoiced…then he plummeted back to reality. It was nigh impossible to acquire the blood of a newborn unicorn. The animals refused to mate in captivity, and finding a newborn by chance happened maybe once in a millennium.

Lucius raised the wand level with Griphook's head. "I'm sure Severus will not object to scouring the Forbidden Forest for a foal. In the meantime, what other cures exist?"

"There _are_ others," whined Griphook, rocking furiously. "I just don't know what they are, it's knowledge that's been lost. Maybe you can find on old goblin who knows, maybe—"

"Shut up. If you have nothing I want, speak no more."

The goblin complied, clamping his mouth tightly. The information, while not by any stretch of the imagination good, wasn't completely useless. There might be a slim chance. Filled with pent up tension, Lucius paced to and fro in front of Griphook, his wand ever facing his foe. There was only a miniscule chance with the unicorn foal, but perhaps an old goblin, a decent one—if such a thing in fact existed—would be willing to step forward and offer a cure. Malfoy could put up a large reward.

In the meantime, Griphook must be returned before he was discovered missing. Lucius stepped forward, dragged the wand along the creature's face to heal the gash, and _scourgified_ the blood. The rest of the wounds were hidden by clothing, therefore unimportant. He uttered the word, '_Obliviate_' then called for Sisidy to return the scum to where she had found him.

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**August 3, 1999**

This may be the only opportunity Bayly was going to get, he couldn't waste it. While Professor Snape was trolling the wood with Professor Conn in search of a unicorn, he slipped up the winding staircase to the Headmaster's office. It wasn't that he feared being denied access, for Snape had made it plain he valued the boy; no, what he feared was _failure_. With his father, failure had entailed cruel, violent punishment that in the end meant nothing to him because he had no true respect or love for the man. With Snape, the notion of raising his mentor's hopes only to dash them again gave him a crushing ache in his chest. It was better if he did this without anyone knowing.

Working on a pure hunch culled from a conversation with Gloria, wherein he'd learned that Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom had both pulled the Sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat, he made his move. It seemed only logical and fair that if one House could call up a favor, the others could, too.

He peered round the room, high and low, finally spying the Hat at the very top of a towering shelf across from the Headmaster's desk. An antsy feeling told him he'd best hurry lest he be discovered, so he took out his wand and levitated the Hat onto the desk. It felt odd to be sneaking about behind the Headmaster's back.

Chewing his lip nervously, he said, "Sorting Hat, I'm Bayly Young. You don't know me, but I'm a Ravenclaw. I've heard you give assistance to people when they need it. My…friend…Narcissa Malfoy was cursed by goblins, she can't wake up, it's like she's dead. If you know anything that can help her, won't you tell me or show me something?"

There was a silence almost as if the Hat were sizing up the lad, minus the eyes to see him. "A Ravenclaw, are you? One of the children I did not sort." Did it sound disappointed or merely stating a fact? "You have already shown great loyalty and devotion to the Headmaster; now you must prove yourself worthy of your House."

"How do I do that?"

In reply the Hat began to sing:

_Gryffindor lions must demonstrate courage beyond the usual type; _

_Slytherin snakes must learn to see beyond the pureblood hype;_

_Hufflepuff badgers must willingly sacrifice everything for a friend;_

_Ravenclaw eagles must answer a riddle surpassing the everyday trend._

Grimacing downheartedly, Bayly sank to the edge of the desk. If this was the way to prove himself, he may as well throw in the towel now! "I hate those blasted riddles! Alright, go ahead."

_"What is it that brings death that is mending and life that is resurrection?"_

Bayly dropped his face into his hands, bemoaning not bringing Gloria or Luna with him. They were _smart_ Ravenclaws, they actually belonged in the House; they could figure this out in a snap. As it stood, he was doomed. Still, he had to try…and likely he had to be the one to answer the riddle for it to count, as it had been posed only to him. "What brings death that is mending? What brings life that is resurrection?"

Why did this seem so familiar? The riddles he'd been forced to answer at Ravenclaw Tower before Snape gave him a free pass were nothing like this. Like a tickling sensation in the back of his skull, his memory told him he knew the answer. He could do this, the Malfoys needed him to do this.

"Death that is mending—fixing, healing…death that is healing? Maybe. Life that is resurrection—rising from the dead. But the riddle says _what_, not _who_…"

Bayly ran his hands through his cropped blond hair, wrinkling his brow in thought. He _knew_ this, it was on the tip of his brain! "Mending…repairing, restoring—_restoring_."

As if a giant light had turned on in his head, he smiled and his eyes glinted. Six years at Durmstrang listening to Tanassov go on about ancient Slavic traditions and folklore hadn't been a waste after all! Good thing the man had demanded attention in his classes! "Hat, I know the answer. It's a raven."

"Well done, son of Rowena Ravenclaw! Lift me to obtain your reward."

His hand trembling slightly, Bayly grasped the old Hat by its pointed tip and lifted cautiously. Setting on the desk were two tiny glass vials, one black, one clear. Death water and life water. In the old fairytale, the raven brought the water from two magical springs: the death water to piece together or make whole a body, the life water to reanimate or resurrect the body.

Bayly picked them up gingerly and slipped them into the pocket of his robe. If this didn't work, he had no idea what might.

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"And that's how I got them," Bayly explained, releasing a huge sigh after his longwinded soliloquy to the Malfoy men. "May I?"

Lucius hastily moved out of the way to allow the boy room, his heart beating in his throat as Bayly sprinkled drops of the water from the black vial on Narcissa's body, paying extra attention to the abdomen where their child resided. He replaced the stopper and set the vial on the nightstand, then repeated the procedure with the life water.

Narcissa's body jerked and she inhaled a long, hissing breath. Lucius flew to her side and crouched on the bed as he took her shoulders in his hands. "Sweetheart, it's me. Are you alright?"

No answer. Her chest rose and fell with the renewal of life, her heart began to beat once more, but her eyes remained steadfastly closed, locked in an unending, dreamless sleep.


	72. The Awakening

Death Eater No More—Chapter Seventy-Two (The Awakening)

**August 4, 1999**

Breakfast had come and gone without Lucius' presence at the table. He felt no hunger, he felt precious little of anything except a desire to remain with Narcissa in the event she woke up. Eyes closed, white blond hair splayed on the sky blue pillowcase like the sun rising over the horizon, he snuggled down in the thick copper comforter beside her. One arm draped around her waist, his lips brushed her temple. Lying this way, cuddled close to her warmth, inhaling her scent and listening to her breathing, he could pretend she only slept the sleep of ordinary mortals, that everything was as it should be.

In his fantasy, Narcissa rose to a bemused sitting position to reprimand her husband for letting her slumber well into the morning. His fantasy did _not_ include Severus in any way, shape, or form, so what in bloody hell was that deep, smooth purr of a voice doing here?

"Good morning, Lucius."

First one eye cocked half open, then the other, both protesting the feeble light streaming through a gap in the curtains. He lifted his head at an awkward angle to peer at the intruder. "Is it? I hadn't noticed."

"It's not like you to languish in bed," observed Snape. If he'd been hinting that Malfoy ought to haul his arse out of bed, the hint went unacknowledged.

Lucius drew himself up on one elbow. "If I may be so blunt, what brings you here? You don't look jubilant or smug enough to have brought a cure."

"Ever the charmer, I see," retorted his friend. In a few long strides he crossed the room to tower over Narcissa, and his heart sank. There seemed to be no change from the previous day. "What did Dr. Livingston have to say?"

Grousing to himself, Lucius sat up and the covers fell down to reveal a bare chest. His grumbling morphed into a smirk at the aghast expression on Severus' face. "I'm not naked, I've got pajama bottoms on—and even if I were completely starkers, she _is_ my wife. Or did you think I'd been doing unspeakables with Narcissa in her condition, you pervert?" Snape's pink-tinged cheeks affirming his assertion, Lucius laughed out loud. How long had it been since he'd done that?

Snape pinched his lips into a white line and affected a pretense of not having heard the remark. "You didn't answer my question."

Malfoy sighed. "He brought in a few colleagues. They tried every countercurse and remedy known to wizard for all types of sleeping disorders, but evidently nothing roused her. She's healthy and normal in every way aside from that; the baby seems fine as well."

"I've asked Firenze the centaur to keep an ear to the ground for a pregnant unicorn," Severus announced. Something in his manner made it evident to Lucius that he had more to say…something unpleasant that he was reluctant to broach.

"And you came here just to tell me that?" inquired Lucius, scrutinizing the man with his accusing grey eyes. "Spit it out, Severus."

The Potions master's black orbs flitted away to land on Narcissa again. For all the deceptions he'd employed over the years, holding things back from Lucius had been some of the hardest. The comfort he might have taken in sharing his pain with his best friend had been overshadowed by the fear of what might happen to Lucius and his family. Right now, he hadn't the heart to exercise duplicity, and he couldn't if he wanted to: it had to be said, he may as well say it, consequences be damned.

"I've brought Hermione Granger to see you."

If Severus had whacked him upside the head with a croquet mallet and danced over his battered body, Lucius couldn't have felt more stunned and bewildered. First he stared, mouth agape. Then the notion struck him that perhaps this was one of Snape's pitiful jokes—he really was terrible at jesting. But the tension in that scrawny body, the shifty look in those beady eyes… "You did _what_?"

"Lucius, calm down. Aline and Bayly have apparently kept the know-it-all up to speed on Narcissa's progress, surely she only wishes to express condolences. I think it's only decent of you to listen to her prattling for a few minutes in light of all she's done." Oops, he probably ought not to have brought up that part, not like this. Good grief, he was turning into Hagrid!

"What exactly has she done?" clipped Lucius, leaning slightly forward, eyebrows raised.

_Deep breath, just tell him the truth no matter if it costs a limb or two._ "You have not only a right, but a necessity to know this, Lucius. Perhaps I should have divulged this to you earlier, but we both know how you get. Granger is the one responsible for opening the dark lord's secret chamber."

Lucius' pale face drained to a sickly jaundiced white and he swooned a bit. The mudblood had opened the chamber? Impossible! Where had he been all this time she was cavorting with his fellow Death Eaters? And why hadn't they maimed or killed her?

"Not literally, of course," Snape rushed to add. Malfoy wasn't looking good, he might faint at any second. "She is the one who told me what Potter and Dumbledore did, the blood offering at the cave of the locket horcrux. It turned out to be the final ward breaker. And…she is also the one who brought the tooth—the Muggle tooth—we used in the potion that allowed you to enter the realm of the dead."

Granger mixing with the Death Eaters? Muggle tooth? What else was Snape keeping from him? "And you're _just now_ telling me this?" he demanded, scarcely able to organize a coherent thought in his mind with all the insanity tumbling about in there. His whole world seemed to have flipped upside down. "Muggle teeth—you know how I feel about them—that one in particular—behind my back—if it didn't work, then what—I can't believe—you're my friend—"

"Lucius, stop!" Surprisingly, he stopped. "Miss Granger helped more than she knows to bring back Narcissa. I have no plans to tell her of the ward breaker or the old castle. Spare her a few minutes, won't you? For your wife's sake."

"Only for her sake," snapped Lucius. He rolled out of bed and petulantly snatched his wand off the night table. "Would you like to watch me dress, or will you fetch the mudblood up here? I'm not leaving Narcissa."

Severus whirled on the heel of his boot and strode purposefully out. He'd survived unscathed, that was an accomplishment; Lucius was mellowing in his old age. He'd left Granger in the front parlor downstairs, but knowing the nosy little witch she could be anywhere snooping about, something Potter had taught her. Nonetheless, he headed straightaway for the parlor, and to his mild chagrin found Hermione exactly where he'd left her, seated on the sofa sipping herbal tea and chatting with the house elves.

"Miss Granger, Lucius will see you. Word of caution: make it brief."

Hermione set down her cup, smiling all over herself. Who ever in the wizarding world would have believed she'd be here in Malfoy Manor, home to some of the staunchest pureblood snobs on the face of the Earth? She certainly hadn't entertained the notion before yesterday. She jumped up with excitement lighting her features. "Lead the way."

Had Draco not seen with his own horrified eyes the spectre of Hermione Granger entering his parents' bedroom, he'd have never believed it in a thousand lifetimes. Shifting his brother into his left arm, leaving his wand arm free, he marched quickly down the hallway and stormed in on Hermione's halting introduction.

"—and we've met—you might recall I was tortured here—"

"If you've come to recount Bellatrix's sins, I advise you to go elsewhere," drawled Lucius in a low growl coursing with dangerous undertones. "I've neither the time nor the patience for it."

Hermione shook her head, making her bushy mane wave. "No, I—"

"Get out, Granger." Draco advanced on the young woman, wand drawn and aimed.

What could very quickly have become a very ugly scene was defused with a simple order from Lucius. "Put it away, Draco." His son's head flicked to him and back to Hermione, then he slowly lowered the wand. "Malfoys show class in the face of adversity."

Showing something more akin to malevolence than class, Draco snarled under his breath, "You're lucky, mudblood."

Partly because she hadn't heard his snide remark, and partly because this was not how she'd meant it to go, Hermione nearly fell over herself apologizing, from embarrassment rather than from fear. "Mr. Malfoy, I didn't come to insult you or bring up the past. Your wife helped Harry, I feel bad for her, I want to help." The three men standing in a sullen triangle surrounding her wasn't comforting. "She's dormant like Sleeping Beauty—the Muggle fairy tale. Well, I thought maybe those old tales had a basis in fact, which is why they involved magic and demons and—"

"Get to the point, Miss Granger," said Snape, pinching the bridge of his nose. Besides being annoyed in general at Granger, he felt guilty for bringing her here. Lucius had enough pain to handle without this; listening to Hermione go on had always been rather painful for _him_.

"In the story, a princess cast into a deep sleep is awakened by true love's kiss. It can't hurt to try, right?"

The men all looked at her as if she'd grown a hump, two horns, and a third foot. Draco snorted and sneered, "That's asinine, Granger. Father has kissed her repeatedly."

"My point is, maybe they got it wrong. Maybe it was _pure_ love, not true love," Hermione explained, somewhat futilely. The faces around her attested to their cluelessness, not really surprising considering that purebloods were about as familiar with Muggle stories as she was with the allure of the Dark Arts. She doubted even Snape knew what she was talking about; his mother had been pureblood, and from what Harry told her, his father didn't seem the type to tuck in his son and regale him with fairy tales.

"Pure love, true love—what's the difference?" inquired Lucius.

"No matter how much we love someone, there is always the element of 'what's in it for me'," said Hermione. She motioned in Draco's direction; he scowled back at her, the set of his face implying he'd just swallowed a lemon. Sighing martyr-like, she continued, "Not you, Draco, I meant to indicate _Ladon_. There's no love purer or truer than that of an innocent baby with no ulterior motives."

Hearing his name, Ladon craned his neck to observe the strange new big person with wild hair, loads of it, made solely for his amusement. His eyes gleamed as he automatically reached out for her, desiring to curl his tiny paws in that mane. When his father strode over and plucked him from his brother's arm, he smiled ecstatically. He was going to get to play!

Lucius stroked Ladon's soft cheek with the back of his hand. How like Narcissa he was, save the eyes and hair. As he traced the high brow, the cheeks that dimpled when he smiled, the miniature version of Narcissa's nose, his soul ached. Every day that his beloved wife had been gone he'd shown the tot moving pictures of her, lest the boy forget the most crucial woman in his young life…he could never let Ladon forget.

When Narcissa had finally been brought home, he'd carried Ladon in to see her. The child had cooed and crawled over her, hugging and whining because he surely felt the difference, he missed his mother's caresses. Ladon needed Narcissa as much as Lucius did; if this crazed idea didn't work—and he highly suspected it would not—he didn't know if he could endure the disappointment.

He walked over to his wife, bent down carefully, and kissed her on the lips. Setting the tyke on the bed next to her, he said, "Kiss Mama, Ladon."

Thrilled to be with his mother again, Ladon gleefully flung himself on the prone figure of the woman. His teeny fingers explored her face, poking up her nostrils and gouging at her eyes, tugging at tendrils of her long hair. She wasn't responding, laughing and bouncing him on her knees. Why didn't Mama act like Mama anymore? He laid his head on hers, drooling a bit on her forehead.

"Kiss Mama," Lucius encouraged, fighting back his embarrassment at making kissy noises in the air for the boy's benefit. He steadfastly avoided any sidelong looks at those gathered there, however.

The boy tilted his head to peer at Lucius, who smiled and prompted him again. He blinked a few times, trying to sort out what his father wanted him to do. Kiss…Mama liked his kisses—he liked better when Mama kissed him all over his face until he burst out in squeals of merriment. Hugging his mother's head between his stubby arms, Ladon opened his mouth and planted it on her cheek like a giant leech, imitating smooching in his own childlike way.

He held it there so long it seemed inevitable the witch would suffer a hickey. Then he disengaged to curl on her chest, sighing contentedly at the rhythm of her breathing and the beating of her heart beneath him.

For an eternity no one moved, no one breathed, every eye was riveted on Narcissa. The unnatural quiet hung in the room like a noxious cloud, choking the sound. There was nothing. After a minute or so, the three men exchanged disheartened glances while Hermione looked on in disenchanted melancholy. She'd so hoped it would work, despite her reasoning telling her it was only a story, it wasn't likely to be of any help. Now the Malfoys would hate her more than ever for getting their hopes up; this would probably be a good time to escape unnoticed. Bit by bit she eased backward toward the door, then she halted in disbelieving rapture, glued to the spot.

Something was happening. Narcissa's eyelids fluttered, she stirred a bit, and suddenly her eyes flipped open. The very walls of the room itself seemed to erupt in elation. Lucius snatched up his son, hugged him so hard to his chest the boy protested loudly, and passed him to Draco in order to throw his arms around his wife. He drew her to him, sitting her up and embracing her so tightly she had to push him off her to breathe.

"Lucius, what are all these people doing in our bedroom?" she asked in bewilderment.

Her husband, unable to answer through the grateful sobs racking his body, only held her as his tears soaked into the fabric of her nightdress. Severus and Draco crowded closer to get a good view of the woman, both smiling like Cheshire cats, though only Draco reached out to grasp her hand, unashamed of his own tears dripping from his chin.

To his little brother he murmured, "I will never call you 'brat' again." Ladon responded by howling to be near his mother now that he'd heard her voice.

"Lucius!" Narcissa insisted shrilly, frightened by all the crying. "What's going on? The last thing I remember is being in the lift at St. Mungo's."

"I'll tell you in a moment, my love," promised the man as he reluctantly let her go and stood up. He took a handkerchief from his breast pocket to dab the wetness from his face, and gave an inviting gesture to Severus to welcome back Narcissa. With a dignity devoid of arrogance he approached Hermione. "You saved my wife."

Hermione swiped hurriedly at the tears coating her cheeks, her voice choked with emotion. "I only helped. You risked your life to bring her through the Veil, and Bayly obtained the water to restore her life. And Ladon is really the one—"

"But why?" interrupted Lucius. "My son and I have always treated you badly."

The young witch shrugged, so happy she barely restrained her weeping. "Because there are more important things than hate or bloodlines or silly ideas of who is superior to whom."

Lucius inclined his head in a nod of genuine gratitude. "Thank you. I cannot repay you for the gift of my wife."

"I don't expect payment," murmured Hermione, peeking past him at the joyful reunion, at Narcissa clutching her baby son to her with one arm and encircling Draco's head with the other. A smile crept over her face. "Narcissa is back, that's all I wanted."

In a move that stunned not only Hermione but himself, Lucius extended a hand to briefly grasp her shoulder and he nodded once more. Then he spun and strode back to his wife with Granger's words echoing in his mind. He could even concede she was right: there was nothing more important than those he loved, not politics or blood or power. In a pitch loud enough for Hermione to hear he said, "Draco, I don't ever want to hear the word 'mudblood' in this house again."

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Long after his parents had retired, well into the night, Draco lay sprawled on his back on top of his bedspread running the day's event over and over through his head. Mother was alive—and awake! It was thrilling, glorious, a miracle! And _Granger_, of all people, had been the one to present the solution; it was mind boggling. He couldn't sleep if he tried, the adrenaline kicked through his veins like a prize horse.

Out of respect for his father's wishes he'd refrained from notifying his friends to tell them the wonderful news. It could keep one day, they had needed to be together as a family without interruptions, without explanations. The following day would be a circus of pestering newspaper reporters, well-wishers, and anyone else who hoped to hobnob with the Malfoys. But this day…he couldn't remember ever experiencing a happier day in his entire life.

Draco hopped his rear end to the edge of the bed, threw his legs over the side, and sprang to his feet. He felt wired, restless—and daring. A slow smile curled his lips up at the ends. He knew exactly what he wanted to do, no matter how irrational or daunting it may seem.

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"Draco, I'm fairly certain your parents would not approve." Mateo crossed his arms and stepped in front of the lad.

"We don't know that. And by the time you go ask them, the deed will be done," smirked Draco. The smirk dropped off and he moved backward involuntarily at the rare flash of irritation in the _sangrista_'s lightly glowing eyes. Here in the dim cellar light, the vampire appeared more imposing, frightening even, though he'd never once so much as slapped Draco let alone harmed him.

"Why can't this wait?" persisted Mateo.

What could Draco say that wouldn't paint him as petty and jealous? Snape and his fiancée had made the potion; Father had gone through the Veil; Young, Ladon, and—uh—Granger had revived Mother. Next to them he felt pitiful, inadequate. Why shouldn't he be allowed to do something heroic or vital? For crying out loud, his baby brother was more significant than _he_ was!

"They're my cousins," he said at last, gesturing at the two coffins beyond his uncle. "Mother loved Regulus—she even named me after him. I know she'd want him to live."

"And the other one?" queried Mateo, unmoving.

Draco hesitated. Sirius was a hard case. Father hated him with a passionate loathing; Mother at one time loved him, but now? The tiny vials he'd nicked from his mother's bedside held at their maximum a few milliliters. Right now they contained no more than a few drops each—enough for one of his cousins, probably, not likely enough for both. "I'll just do Regulus."

Still Mateo had not stepped aside. "What if you bring the corpse to life but he doesn't awaken, as your mother didn't?"

"Well, it's not the same as for Mother, she was under a curse. This water is for plain old dead people like this. Even so, that nutzoid house elf of Potter's, what's his name—Kreacher! Kreacher adored Regulus with an intensity bordering on worship. He might be able to wake him." Draco congratulated himself silently on how quickly he'd come up with a plausible plan.

As for Sirius, well—_nobody_ liked him! The notion of Potter trying to wake his godfather by kissing was so hilarious he almost exploded into laughter, only it strangely wasn't really so funny when he considered it. Sirius could be stuck like that forever. And of course if it didn't work on Regulus, Father would be livid because he'd probably end up having to kill Regulus to end the torment. Or he could have a vampire do it…Draco grimaced and gulped at the thought.

Mateo held out one hand, palm up. Wordlessly his nephew reached into the pocket of his robe to scoop out the two bottles, which he placed in the open hand. For a moment he assumed Mateo meant to crush them, but instead the _sangrista_ lifted them up above his head, gazing up as he said, "Only God has the power to conquer death. We acknowledge His supremacy and beseech His blessing and assistance in the use of this magical water."

He gave the vials back to Draco, turned around, and opened the casket directly behind him. Inching closer, wand tip alight, Draco shook his head and pointed at the other coffin. Mateo obligingly swung it open. Decomposition had begun to take hold of both bodies, and the stench raised by the opening of the coffins made Draco stagger back, gasping and retching.

Pulling the stopper from the black vial, he poured water to wet his fingertips and flicked the water onto Regulus' corpse. To his astonishment, the bloating immediately began to subside, the parts of his face that didn't quite look normal smoothed out and became as clear and unblemished as Draco's own skin. Heartened, he capped the death water and repeated the process with the clear vial containing life water.

As with Narcissa, there was a short period of nothing, then a gasping inhalation of breath; the difference was that Regulus' eyes flitted open. He stared sightlessly at the ceiling for a minute while Draco wondered if he'd truly come to life at all or had become a zombie. That would be interesting, to say the least, to try explaining to his father! At long last Regulus sat up and looked around the dimness in a haze.

When he caught sight of Draco, he grinned. "Hey, Lucius. When did you cut your hair?" He frowned as if noticing for the first time where he was, his fist kneaded the silk cushions. "And why am I in a coffin?"

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Mateo had to admit, this resurrected boy was persistent and persuasive—and completely ignorant of anything that had passed from the day he died. After a quick but thorough explanation by Draco of his death, the time interval, and his restoration to life, he'd accepted his circumstances readily; however, seeing his brother in the adjoining casket, Regulus had cajoled and pleaded with Draco to bring him to life, too. Both of them had looked to Mateo, whose age and wisdom somehow didn't cover a topic as momentous and bizarre as this. While Regulus was beloved by the Malfoys, Sirius was reviled by Lucius, if not Narcissa. Bringing him to life might pose a lot of problems. Not that Sirius would be living here at the manor if he did, in fact, get the chance to live, but…

"I'll do it, just tell me what to do," Regulus implored. "If Lucius gets cross, it'll be with me. Please, Draco, he's my brother!"

The last comment found its mark. Draco well understood love of a brother, no matter what said brother was like. If it were Ladon lying there, he'd move heaven and Earth to save the tot. At the same time, this was getting out of hand, he didn't know what he ought to do.

"I don't even know if there's enough water left," Draco protested feebly for the tenth time. He shoved the vials into Regulus' hand, relinquishing responsibility. "Here, if you want to do it, be my guest. Pour the black one on him, then the clear one."

Regulus eagerly pulled the stopper on the black vial and shook it hard over Sirius' corpse. A paltry three drops were all he could coax out; the vial was empty. He pounded it upside down, to no avail. Nonetheless, Sirius' body gradually mended itself in the same way as his brother's had done, albeit considerably more slowly. Heart thumping in anticipation, Regulus emptied the other bottle on Sirius, a whole impressive _four_ drops.

When Sirius finally opened his bleary eyes, he saw what appeared to be his dead brother hovering over him, grinning madly. Filled with a burst of fury that those damned Death Eaters had somehow captured him and dared to impersonate Regulus, he swung a hard fist straight up into the young man's nose.


	73. ReMeeting

Death Eater No More—Chapter Seventy-Three (Re-Meeting)

**Night of August 4, 1999**

In gleeful anticipation Regulus leaned over the side of his brother's coffin mounted on a sturdy table beside his own recently vacated box, his hands gripping the satiny padding, a lopsided grin gracing his handsome young face. Sirius' eyelids cranked open gradually as if he were asleep and striving not to wake up. The younger of the two sucked in a breath, forgetting to let it out. His brother was coming to life! The excitement was palpable.

The next instant he saw a fist flashing toward his face and his head exploded in an orgy of pain. Involuntarily he lurched back, one hand going to his nose and coming away bloodied from the liquid gushing onto his expensive burial robes. "Sirius, what the hell?!"

In one fluid movement Sirius gave a leaping roll over the edge of his casket, landed on his feet, and bolted for the door. But for the uncanny speed of vampires, he might have made it before Draco registered what was going on. Instead, Mateo zipped past the men, handily reaching the exit first. He smiled wryly and shook his head at the human's audacity.

One cold hand slammed into the doorframe, blocking the way. Sirius grabbed the vampire's T-shirt and shoved, idly wondering why anyone at this cave-like place, wherever it was, wore Muggle clothing when evidently it was a Death Eater meeting of some kind. Mateo delivered a lazy push to Sirius' chest and the latter soared backward, feet barely skimming the floor, struck his coffin with a grunted exhalation, and fell in a heap.

"I'm beginning to see why Lucius despises you," remarked the _sangrista_ coolly.

Groaning himself into a seated position, one hand braced behind him on the ground, Sirius retorted, "Who the f—k are you? Another bloody Death Eater?"

To Black's wide-eyed astonishment, Mateo floated across the space between them, smiling with fangs exposed. "I'm Lucius' and Draco's uncle. You can call me 'Sir'."

"Holy crap, I knew it!" howled Sirius, scuttling backward under the table. "Malfoy's probably a vampire, too!"

"Shut up, Sirius," warned Draco, finally entering the fray.

"What is your probleb?" demanded Regulus. He'd gratefully taken the handkerchief offered by his cousin and was currently pressing it to his bleeding orifice. "Dobody's tryig to hurt you."

"So these broken vertebrae are a bonus? Oh, and the attempt to bury me alive—nice touch!" sneered the Gryffindor. He made a double thumbs-up gesture as he affected a broad goofy grin.

"Do't be a jerk," Regulus honked out. He winced and gingerly wiggled the tip of his nose.

"When I get my wand back, your ass is mine, bastard! How dare you impersonate my brother!" Sirius made as if to lunge at Regulus, but stayed put upon spying Mateo beside him looking a bit too much like he'd greatly enjoy it if Sirius tried something.

"I _ab_ your brother!" Regulus barked.

This time Sirius did venture out from under the table, his voice shaking with ire. "I'm not an idiot! He's been dead for many years, and for all I know _you_ killed him!"

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Frob what I udderstad, you've beed dead a few years yourself."

Sirius laughed roughly, mirthlessly. "Really? How lame do you think I am? I think I'd remember something as momentous as being _dead_, don't you? What do you want? I know you're a Polyjuiced Death Eater, and I won't talk no matter how much you torture me." He flopped back on his rump, arms crossed, mouth set.

Once more Draco made his presence made with an ungentlemanly snort. "Oh, that's rich: a _Black_ keeping his mouth shut." At the sight of his wand, Sirius flinched but continued to glare defiantly. Draco lifted the wand to Regulus' nose, pronounced the word _episkey_, and the young man's nose snapped painfully back into place. A _scourgify_ cleaned the blood smears from his face and clothing.

"Sod off, Malfoy brat," muttered Sirius.

"You know, both you and your brother were resurrected because of the Malfoys. You might show a little gratitude," growled Mateo.

"Don't bother, Mateo," advised Draco with a sidelong glance at the sullen Sirius. "As much as I hate the idea, the only one he'll listen to is that freak Potter. We have to get him here."

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Kreacher didn't like being bothered in the middle of the night—that is, by anyone other than Master Harry Potter, whose summons could never be construed as a bother, they were more like the tinkling of chimes on a sweet summer night. Which of course was the reason he'd quit Hogwarts to come back to Grimmauld Place to serve Master Harry Potter despite Master's protests that he needed no house elf. Once Kreacher had stopped weeping uncontrollably over Master Harry Potter's cruel suggestion that he wasn't needed, and the master had offered judicious amounts of apologies for said cruel and beastly remarks, Kreacher had wiped his eyes, honked his snout-like nose, and joyfully set about making the place a home again.

Now here it was the middle of the blooming night and he—Kreacher—had a guest! Sisidy, the Malfoy elf, had come to plead for Kreacher's assistance in getting Master Harry Potter to Malfoy Manor. The poor Malfoy elf was obviously as demented as that lunatic Dobby had been, with her delusional rambling on about that horrible blood traitor that Mistress hated so because he'd broken her heart. Though Kreacher had ceased reciting in front of Master Harry Potter all the sins of that wretched Sirius Black, he nonetheless nurtured his detestation for the evil fool as was only right and proper. Insane ranting or no, Sisidy refused to leave until he spoke with his master, and he couldn't sleep with her opening his cupboard and prattling on.

Thus it was with a heavy heart he approached the sleeping Harry and poked him gently in the ribs. "Master Harry Potter," he squeaked.

Harry moaned and rolled over, smacking his lips loudly.

"Master Harry Potter." _Poke_. "Master Harry Potter." _Poke_. "Master Har—"

"Stop it, Kreacher!" Face scrunched in irritation, Harry rolled over and sat up, squinting at the elf. "What is it?"

"Draco Malfoy sends his elf to request Master Harry Potter's presence." Kreacher bent in to whisper conspiratorially, "Kreacher thinks Sisidy is a tad daft, but Kreacher is a good elf. Kreacher notifies Master when Draco Malfoy claims the putrid—er—Sirius Black is alive."

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"How do I know you're really Harry?" inquired Sirius belligerently, his back to the wall of the cellar, a hand thrust out to keep the boy at bay when he attempted to get close enough for a hug.

Harry winced and shrank visibly at the rebuff. Even though Draco had met him upstairs and briefed him on what had passed in the last hour, he didn't think it could be that bad…Malfoy was prone to exaggeration, after all. Sirius was alive, what could be bad about that? Notwithstanding the present circumstances, it gave Harry a strange, tingly feeling to see his godfather standing there alive and well.—and young, probably around twenty-five. His brother Regulus looked exactly as he had in the photos taken not so long before his death when he was a mere eighteen.

"Sirius, it's me! You know me!" exclaimed Harry in a hurt tone. His brow furrowed and he felt his lower lip start to tremble. He'd be damned if he'd let Malfoy see him cry!

"The Malfoys are big on tricks," retorted the man.

"I talked to you, and my parents, and Lupin right before Voldemort _avada kedavra'd_ me again in the forest…don't you remember? You walked with me, you said dying was easy…" Tears had welled large enough to roll down his nose; Harry forced them back and swallowed the lump traveling into his throat.

"Can't say that I do," replied Sirius stoically. Inside his emotions raged. The kid sure looked like James—like Harry—but it could be a deception. How to find out?

"Where is the last place you remember being?" asked Harry suddenly. "You were fighting Bellatrix Lestrange, she shot you with a hex next to the archway—remember?"

For a long moment Sirius said nothing. He did vaguely recall that, but he'd assumed he simply fell down and the Death Eaters had brought him here, stuffed him in a coffin to bury alive, and he'd managed to wake first. Slowly he began in a near whisper, "If I were an animagus, and I'm not saying I am, what would I be?"

Harry chanced glimpses at the faces of the others present. Regulus, by all accounts except his own brother, had been a decent fellow, had tried to bring down Voldemort; Mateo was a friend of Snape, he'd seen the vampire at school; only Draco was a wild card, but if he'd gone to the trouble to bring Sirius back from the dead, he couldn't be all bad despite years of evidence to the contrary.

"A dog—a black dog," Harry whispered back.

"Name?"

"Snuffles."

"Where's the first place you saw me?"

Harry halted right before blurting out 'in the Shrieking Shack'. He'd seen the dog form of Sirius before that, unaware of who it was. "In Little Whinging when I was waiting for the Knight Bus."

With an exclamation of, "Harry!" that sounded remarkably like the excited yap of a dog, Sirius barreled forward to throw his arms around the lad, slapping him repeatedly on the back as Harry dissolved into sobs on his shoulder, clinging to him like a waif.

"It's okay, Harry, everything's okay," soothed Sirius. The animated slaps turned to circles he stroked on the boy's back. "Tell me what's the matter."

"I missed you so much. I was—alone," choked out Harry, no longer caring that his archenemy was watching. "Everybody died—mum and dad, you, Dumbledore—"

"Dumbledore's dead?" interrupted Sirius incredulously. He hadn't thought anything could do in that wily old wizard. His frown deepened as his heart fell; what Harry had said earlier finally struck home. "Did you say Remus is gone, too?"

"Yes. So much has happened in these three years, Sirius." Harry pulled away and drew his sleeve across his eyes, then resettled his glasses. "I don't even know where to start."

"Three years," echoed his godfather morosely. "That's a long time to be gone."

"What about me?" interjected Regulus forlornly. "Draco said I've been deceased like twenty years—that's longer than I was alive! The whole world must be different."

For the first time since waking up Sirius really looked at his brother, convinced now that this boy truly was his flesh and blood. Memories of days so far in the past he couldn't rightly place the time drifted unbidden through his mind. As youngsters they'd been close, and even as teenagers a vestige of their love remained intact in spite of the ideals and people endeavoring to tear them apart. Reg didn't have it in him to be evil; he had been a fool to sign on with Voldemort, but hadn't it been partly Sirius' own fault? Reg had done it to prove to the parents he was worthy, he wasn't a screw up like Sirius…he'd done it out of self-preservation.

For all that he'd claimed he hated Regulus along with their parents, Sirius could admit to himself it had been a defense mechanism to protect himself first from the sorrow of losing the boy to Voldemort, then to death itself. Azkaban had further alienated him, twisted him into a hard, bitter man who refused to make allowance for the boy's youth and naivete, made him forget how much he used to love the kid, how hearing of Reg's death had been like a knife in his chest.

Sirius bit his lip to hold back a rush of pesky, embarrassing emotions as grief washed over him. So many years had been lost…now they were given a miraculous opportunity to make it up. Softly he said, "I was at your memorial service. James lent me his invisibility cloak so the family couldn't see me and try for a double funeral."

"Really? Thanks, that means a lot," said Regulus, grinning.

"I'm sorry, Reg," Sirius murmured, extending a hand to the youth. Regulus came forward and his arms folded around his brother; before he knew it Sirius felt hot tears burning his eyes and coursing down his cheeks. "I'm sorry for breaking your nose…I'm really sorry for not being a better brother to you when I had the chance to make a difference. Voldemort murdered you because I didn't try hard enough to save you. And then I blamed _you_ because you were stupid enough to join him."

"Um, Voldemort didn't kill me, exactly. I killed myself," Regulus hedged.

Sirius literally flung him backward. "You did what?"

"I was trying to destroy his horcrux…" Regulus trailed off. He wondered if Kreacher had been able to destroy it. "It was really dangerous, I figured I wouldn't live so I said goodbye, remember? The last time I saw you…"

"How was I supposed to know you were gonna die? Why didn't you ask me for help?" exclaimed Sirius, throwing up his hands.

"I did," Regulus murmured. "You didn't believe me about the horcrux."

Sirius merely gawped at him, unsure what to say. He'd told Reg that the dark lord only wanted to scare him by telling him such nonsense and that he ought to quit the dark side and come to Dumbledore. How could he have known Reg would go off and get himself killed trying to do the right thing?

"Kreacher brought it back to Grimmauld Place," said Harry quietly. "We did destroy it."

"Look," Draco broke in. "As cheerful and inviting as this place is, the stench is still kind of overwhelming. Why don't we move upstairs to the parlour? There's an awful lot to discuss, and I don't just mean current events or the demise of Voldemort last year."

"_Voldemort's dead_?!" The words burst simultaneously from Reg's and Sirius' astonished mouths, faces set in identical masks of shock.

"Like Malfoy said, there's a lot of catching up to do," said Harry, grinning idiotically and not sure why. He followed Draco up the narrow stone steps away from the dank cellars. As he walked he hesitantly went on, "Your name has been cleared, Sirius. Pettigrew revealed himself—he died in this cellar. I was wondering…did you want to come back to Grimmauld Place? It belongs to you."

"I gave it to you, Harry, it's yours. But I'd like to stay there, sure. How about you, Reg?"

By now they'd reached the top of the stairs. Draco swung shut the door and ushered them toward the parlour. To Sisidy, who hopped anxiously about, he gave orders to bring some tea and sandwiches. Regulus tagged after the others, soaking up the ambiance of the Malfoy Manor; it hadn't changed much at all.

"First we need to see Narcissa," Regulus reminded his brother. "After that, I guess I can live with you and Harry for a while. We'll have to rescind our death certificates—and I want my share of the Black vault. And I need a wand…"

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**August 6, 1999**

**Malfoy Manor Home to Miracles: Narcissa Malfoy Awakens**

_ After more than a month of furious searching and preparations, Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy was brought back from the grave! At the very least, brought back through the now-demolished Veil in the Ministry of Magic, where her husband Lucius Malfoy journeyed by means of a special potion set forth by the Arch Builders. Some Quibbler sources report the couple's young son Ladon owns the credit for waking his mother from the curse placed on her by goblins._

_ BUT DOES HE?_

_ Our sources tell us Ladon is a precocious boy whose magic began to manifest at the age of two months. However, Lucius Malfoy himself—in a bizarre turn of events—bestowed special recognition upon Muggleborn Hermione Granger for her part in waking Narcissa. One can only ponder how the magic of a baby compares to that of a full grown witch; one can only speculate what is really going on behind the scenes to cause a certain Lucius Malfoy to demonstrate such a radical change of heart toward a Muggleborn, long known to be anathema to him. While we all rejoice in Narcissa's recovery, we wait with baited breath for the announcement that Miss Granger has more than a passing hold on Mr. Malfoy._

**Two Members of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black Return**

_ Notorious once-believed mass murderer and possible lead singer of The Hobgoblins, Sirius Black, is alive! Ministry officials have confirmed that both Black and his brother Regulus were inadvertently sucked through the Veil by Lucius Malfoy while rescuing his wife. They were later restored to life by use of magical springs containing Life Water and Death Water. The person responsible for acquiring the water prefers to remain anonymous because, "I don't believe I'd be able to get any more of the water, and I don't fancy being hounded by people desperate to revive their loved ones."_

_ Regulus Black, who died trying to recover one of Voldemort's horcruxes, retains his youthful age of eighteen. He has expressed a desire to pick up his life with his family and old friends—among them Severus Snape, who refused to speak with our reporters but coincidentally expressed poorly concealed irritation and disgust at the mention of the return of his nemesis throughout his school days, Sirius Black. The fact that he played a hand in Black's return by translating the text of the Arch Builders and brewing the potion for Malfoy to enter the Veil cannot sit well with him._

_ Sirius Black claims to have no plans for the future._

_ BUT DOES HE?_

_ The newly animated and ever-handsome Black sports a look ten years younger than the age at which he died. Is it possible he hopes to resume the musical career he so vehemently denies? Or perhaps his plans are more insidious. Severus Snape's fiancée is not yet his wife; could Black hope to torment Snape even further by wooing his woman? Only time—and the Quibbler—will tell!_

Aline stopped reading aloud and lowered the paper as she laughed. Severus failed to see what she found so humorous. He scowled and plucked the newspaper from her hand, then tossed it onto the table where it nearly knocked over her cranberry juice. The glass teetered and righted itself.

"I can't believe you read this rubbish," he growled as he glared at the parchment with enough intensity to combust.

"It's funny," replied Aline. Another chuckle escaped. "Especially the part about Sirius 'wooing' me. They certainly have _interesting_ papers here. Back home things like this are termed 'rag magazines'."

The man's obsidian eyes narrowed to slits. If Black laid one of his filthy paws anywhere near Aline, he'd cheerfully send the jerk right back to the nether world, minus a few choice body parts. "Black may be irrational, impetuous, and borderline insane, but I doubt he'd have the guts to 'woo' you while I draw breath."

Aline reached over to take Severus' hand, stroking the slim yet strong and skilled fingers. Her left hand cupped his, revealing an ornamented serpent of white gold that slithered around her ring finger, its open fanged mouth joining the pointy tail and latching onto a small round emerald that jutted out slightly, waiting for the matching serpent whose jaws would clench the jewel from the other direction. "You really, really hate him even after all these years, don't you?"

"Hate is a strong word…unfortunately, not strong enough," Severus replied with a forced smile. He wasn't barmy enough to think his jealousy attractive, but—well, damn it all, Aline was _his_ and he'd not allow that mangy bastard or anyone else to ruin it for him. Changing the subject seemed the only prudent thing to do. "Now that Lucius has addressed the reporters and they've had a day to relax and regroup, I thought I'd check in on Narcissa. If Regulus is there, I'd like to see him, too."

A true smile tipped up the corners of his mouth, crinkling the skin around his eyes. He hadn't dwelt on their friendship for so very long, a lifetime ago…he'd missed the twit more than he liked to admit. At least he wouldn't have to worry about Sirius being there; Lucius detested him almost as much as Snape did, he wouldn't let the ponce stay at his home when he had Potter to run to.

"Professors?"

Severus and Aline looked up simultaneously at the open door to Snape's room where they'd been sharing breakfast. Bayly flushed and averted his eyes as if he'd walked in on them snogging…or worse.

"Narcissa Malfoy sent an owl." He held out the note toward them without stepping into the room. If he could manage to lengthen his arm a few meters, he might be able to deliver it.

"For crying out loud, we're only having breakfast," Severus chided. "Bring it here."

"Good morning, Bayly," Aline said.

"Morning, Professor Conn," answered Bayly distractedly as he hovered near Snape while he read the message. His fist clenched reflexively again and again. He'd read the note, addressed to them all, and the contents made his stomach contract with worry.

Severus handed the note to Aline even as he said, "Narcissa wants to see all of us. It seems wedding plans have changed."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Their joy filled greetings complete, the two engaged couples and the married pair seated themselves around the main sitting room. While Severus and Aline looked to be merely curious about the reason for being here, Bayly and Gloria appeared petrified. The Adam's apple in Bayly's throat bobbed convulsively; Gloria alternated between tapping her fingers on the arm of the loveseat and wringing her hands nervously in her lap.

"Ladon's sure happy to have his mama back," Aline observed, cocking her head and smiling at the tot coiled around his mother's body, his face buried in her chest. "He's so precious."

The Malfoys looked at their child and exchanged warm glances. "He is indeed," Lucius commented as he brushed Ladon's fuzzy hair off his face.

"He's become very clingy as a result of my absence, he won't let me out of his sight without becoming hysterical," Narcissa explained in a soothing voice as she petted her son's back. "My poor little angel."

"My father said when babies get like that, it usually wears off after a while," Gloria said softly. "They're so young that they quickly forget bad things."

"I'm sure you're right," Narcissa concurred. She hoped Gloria was right. As much as she loved her son, she couldn't be with him every minute, yet the pitiful wail of abandonment broke her heart. "Let me explain why I asked you here. First, let me apologize. Bayly's and Gloria's wedding was scheduled for over a week ago, but…" There was no need to finish, they all knew what had occurred.

"My love, that's hardly your fault," Lucius argued as the rest nodded in agreement with him.

"I know, but—it's just that I said I'd get it done, and I didn't. You kids didn't have to wait…I feel bad that I spoiled it for you," she finished lamely.

"You didn't, Mrs. Malfoy," Bayly protested. He and Gloria had been terrified that the Malfoys had decided to abandon the wedding plans, and instead he discovered that _she_ felt bad for not being here? The woman had been kidnapped, cursed, and thrown into the abyss and she was apologizing?? It was only out of the goodness of her heart in interceding that he and Gloria were even engaged! "It wouldn't seem right to be married without you there."

"We knew Mr. Malfoy would rescue you somehow," added Gloria brightly. "We agreed that we wanted to wait for you to come back—and here you are!"

Narcissa gave a tender smile to the couple. She wouldn't say so in front of Lucius, but what if she had never come back? She couldn't expect them to wait forever. "That's very kind of you. Here's my problem—and by extension, your problem: Severus and Aline are scheduled to wed on August the twenty-fifth. They need to do it when their colleagues will be back from summer holiday but before the new school year begins. I don't have time to plan another wedding before that, so we'll need to push it back even further."

"Oh." Bayly's face fell, though he immediately raised his head again. It was ungrateful to sulk, and if they got married a few months later than planned, it was not a big deal. The Malfoys had endured a lot, and they were hosting the reception in their ballroom. He had to think of them. "That's alright, we can wait."

"Or we could hold a double wedding ceremony," suggested Aline. All chatter ceased, all eyes fell on the witch, whose brow puckered in bemusement. "What? It's not that uncommon."

Severus squeezed her knee covertly, his billowy outer robe draped over it and easily hiding the hand he'd been tickling up and down her thigh. It struck him how often he'd laughingly caught Lucius doing similar things, though admittedly Malfoy went to less trouble to hide his affections for his wife. If Aline had proposed dressing in burlap and getting married in a pigpen during mating season he'd be willing to acquiesce as long as it made her entirely his. "If that's what Aline wants, I've no problem with it. Bayly?"

His gaze strayed to the young man. Bayly stared back—or gaped, as the case may be. Professor Snape had proven in many ways that he was a decent, honorable man, and Bayly happily accepted that Snape cared about him, even liked him as a person…or a son, he thought shyly. But to so readily share the most special day of his life…it moved the youth deeply.

One quick glance at Gloria's thrilled countenance told him all he needed to know. Bayly cleared his throat and murmured, "Thank you, I'd—we'd like that very much."

"Then I'd better start on the planning!" Narcissa chirped excitedly. "I was so worried you'd be upset and insist on an earlier date, which I just couldn't accommodate. Oh, I need to talk to your mother, Gloria, she'll want to help me."

"Hey, there! I'm not interrupting, am I?" Regulus strolled into the room, caught sight of Snape, and burst out, "Severus!"

The older man let go of Aline's leg and stood up, feeling far more awkward than he'd envisioned this meeting. Out of habit a smirk formed on his lips. "Regulus Black, I was hoping to see you. This is my—"

"Wow, you look old! I mean, not _ancient_, only…" he backpedaled sheepishly at the smirk morphing into one of Snape's famous dark, dour-filled glares. "I just meant you were nineteen last time I saw you. I'll shut up now."

Severus rolled his eyes. How could he be angry with the kid? He hadn't changed a bit, he was still the same openhearted, empty-headed dufus that Snape had grudgingly become so fond of when they were both boys. "That might be the wise course of action. May I present my fiancée, Aline Conn. Aline, this is Regulus—the normal Black. More or less," he qualified under his breath.

Reg scurried in close, made a small bow, extended his hand for hers, and gently kissed it. "The pleasure is mine. I can't tell you how glad I am he's finally over that Lily bi—person."

Struggling to keep a straight face Aline replied, "That makes two of us. Or three if you count Severus."

Regulus righted himself and addressed Snape again. "Um…should we hug or something? Apparently it's been a long time since we saw each other."

Instinctively Severus recoiled at the notion of human contact with someone other than Aline. "I'm willing to forego tradition in favor of a handsh—" That was as far as he got before Regulus hurtled forward and threw his arms around his friend. "Or we could hug," Severus finished dryly. He clumsily patted Regulus' back a few times before pushing the boy off him.

"Regulus, stop bothering our guests," Lucius ordered. "Why don't you take Bayly and Gloria to go play billiards. I believe Draco is in there."

"But I wanted to talk to Severus," insisted the lad doggedly.

Snape made a shooing motion with one hand. "We'll talk later. I think you and Bayly will find you have a lot in common." The instant it escaped his mouth, he desperately hoped Regulus wouldn't ask 'Like what?' The boy wasn't exactly tact personified. Aside from Quidditch, Severus drew a blank on their commonalities.

Thankfully, Regulus seemed pleased to have people his own age to socialise with, and soon the three trooped from the room. Lucius watched them go; when he was sure they were out of earshot he grumbled, "I like Regulus, I won't complain about having him back, but I could slap Draco into next week for reviving Sirius. I don't care if he claims Regulus did it."

"Dear, you promised you weren't going to punish him," Narcissa warned, her silky voice a thinly veiled threat that Lucius obviously understood all too well.

"I said I _could_, not I _would_, sweetheart," Lucius returned, his glowing smile blatantly fake.

"This will cheer you up," Severus said, careful to avoid eye contact with Narcissa when she was in that mood—and when he was about to say what he was about to say. "I informed our colleagues of what's happened and advised them to steer clear of Black, especially Nott since he looks like…Nott. However, Marshal offered to kill Sirius."

"Oh, really?" Lucius brightened considerably. What a marvelous fantasy…so many ways he'd like to see it done, and Severus could watch, too! A hard pinch on his leg that brought tears to his eyes also brought reality screaming back. "I mean, how utterly wretched of him to offer such a bad, bad thing."

Pink lips set in a pout, Narcissa clipped, "He is still my cousin."

"And although I was sorely tempted to accept Marshal's offer, I said no," Snape finished with a 'so there' look at Narcissa. "All of us will get to endure the wonder that is Dog Boy until he meets his undoubtedly untimely death due to some raging stupidity on his own part. If things go according to his pattern, we may not have long to wait."

Lucius laughed out loud, Narcissa scowled, and Aline felt very uncomfortable.

"Severus, that's not very nice," she said.

"_Black_ isn't very nice," retorted Severus. "And I was merely predicting based on previous experience. Don't hex the messenger."


	74. Don't Let the Past Become Your Future

Death Eater No More—Chapter Seventy-Four (Don't Let the Past Become Your Future)

**August 8, 1999**

For obvious reasons, Regulus had not apparated in quite some time; for any wizard, apparating repeatedly over long distances proved trying, exhausting, and often nauseating. The two facts linked together fully explained why Regulus was currently on his knees puking his guts out on the windy coast of Greenland as Lucius stood by trying to quell the heaves brought on by watching the boy.

"I told you not to have lunch," Lucius grumbled. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself and turned to view the waves crashing on a nearby stack of boulders.

Regulus spit on the rocky sand, looked up at the man through watery eyes, then hacked and spit again. His collar length dark hair spun wildly around his head and whipped his face in the chilling wind. "I didn't know it would be this hard. I don't think I can do it."

"We're halfway there. If we turn back now it's all for nothing." Lucius spun about wearing a plastered on smile. The remainder of the trip held no more appeal for him than it did for the youth, but they'd come this far. "Come on, if you side along with me it won't be so draining on you."

He held out his arm and waited. Regulus slowly rose to his feet, shuffled over to him, and grasped hold firmly. An instant later they were on the move again, at last landing on the shore of Newfoundland. Lucius paused to get his bearings and to allow Regulus a few gulps of fresh air before pressing on. Rather than take yet another huge leap, he decided to break it into two smaller distances—to somewhere in the middle of New Brunswick, and their ultimate destination: Salem. They apparated to a wooded park near the entrance to the wizarding section of the city.

His legs wobbly from exertion, Lucius took a few tentative steps with Regulus, his face slightly green and primed to hurl again, still latched on. "Breathe," he encouraged the boy. "Take deep breaths, let it out gradually."

Regulus did as he was advised, oblivious to the looks of passers-by. Lucius stared them down with his cold, imperious glare that dared them to make something of the way he was dressed or—God help them—his long hair neatly pulled into a secure ponytail at the nape of his neck.

"I feel better," Regulus said finally. He dropped his hand off Lucius' arm. "Are we here?"

"It's a short walk from here." And it was hot! He'd expected it to be warm, and he'd only worn the cloak because the trip was windy and cold, but this Salem in August was right wicked! He found himself shrugging off his outer layer. Glancing about quickly, he shrank the cloak to the size of a handkerchief, folded it, and slipped it into his trouser pocket. He then repeated the action for Regulus.

From memory he led the way down the cobblestone streets of wizarding Salem, right to the modest shop advertised with a plain wooden sign reading _Conn's Wands_. He gestured for Regulus to go in first, and shut the door behind them as the bell overhead tinkled gaily. Abigail Conn didn't enter from the back room, yet suddenly there she was in front of them, dressed in a billowy midnight blue robe. Now that Lucius knew Aline, he was struck by the resemblance.

"Lucius Malfoy! I didn't expect to see you here again. Is everything well with you and your wife and son?" She paused only a second before adding, "And your second son? The last time you were here, your wife was with child."

"Hello, Miss Conn. Everything is fine, thank you for inquiring." Lucius would have asked how she knew his second child was also a boy, only he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know. Aline could have informed her; Lucius had a sneaking suspicion the woman hadn't needed to be told. He assiduously avoided shaking hands with the witch, as he cared not one whit for another display of her talent on him. "This is Regulus Black, he requires a new wand."

Abigail smiled brightly in a way that inspired confidence as she extended both hands to Regulus, and he grinned back as he offered his own. "It's a pleasure to meet you, young man." An odd expression passed over her features while clasping his hands, and she gave the lad a scrutinizing stare. "You're the one Aline told me about…you were dead."

"Yeah, but I don't remember it," confessed Regulus, shrugging nonchalantly as if people came back from the grave every day. "Bayly said a side effect of the life and death waters is you don't recall anything of the afterlife. I guess it's like a protection or something—I mean, what if it was really great or really scary there? Either way, you wouldn't want to know cuz it would affect your life too much."

"I suppose so," Abigail agreed, letting go of his hands. She crooked a finger at the wall crammed with small boxes and one disengaged itself from its mates to zoom into her hand. She opened the box and presented it to him. "White birch, ten and three quarter inches, unicorn hair from the tail—different from the mane, you know."

Regulus gingerly reached out to pick up the stick of wood between finger and thumb. He'd only ever used his own wand, the one lost in the cave when he died. It almost seemed traitorous to be replacing it with another. However, the moment he touched it, a jolt of warmth surged up his arm in an exciting, tingly fashion that made him start. It not only felt good, it felt…right. It felt like it already belonged to him.

"Try it out," Lucius suggested.

Wand aloft in search of an easy target, Regulus whirled in his spot. The shop hadn't much to offer apart from the multitude of boxes. Giving off a devilish air that couldn't bode well, he pointed the wand at Lucius and quickly uttered a spell. Malfoy transformed into a beautiful white unicorn with furious grey eyes. "Maybe you can pluck a hair or two from him," joked Reg.

Lucius snorted, stomped a hoof on the floor, then charged at Black, who yelped out the countercharm in time to return Malfoy to his proper form before he was stampeded or impaled on the horn. Lucius straightened up, face flaming, and jerked his disheveled robes into place.

Glowering fiercely at the brat's audacity, Lucius hauled off and cuffed the lad hard upside the head, eliciting another yelp. "Do that again and you'll win a free demonstration of the Malfoy cane across your arse!"

Regulus rubbed at the sore spot on his temple, sulking just a bit. "You said to try it out."

"Gentlemen," interrupted Abby. She waited for their full attention. "Are you quite finished?"

Lucius folded his arms over his chest, his lips pinched, but he took a step away from the boy and nodded brusquely.

"Do you like the wand, Mr. Black?" asked Abby.

"Oh, yes, very much!" Regulus exclaimed, forgetting his annoyance at Lucius. As a young Death Eater, he'd been taken under Lucius' wing, he'd gotten used to Malfoy's little outbursts. This was by no means the first time he'd earned himself a slap. "I'd like this one, please."

Still delivering intermittent scathing glares, Lucius reached into a pocket of his robes for the money pouch he kept there. He counted out the appropriate number of coins, returned the pouch to its place, and said stiffly, "Thank you, Miss Conn, you've been most helpful once again."

"Yes, thank you very much…and you, Lucius," Regulus said, looking dejected. "I appreciate everything you're doing, you know I do. Don't be cross, it was only in fun. I won't do it again."

Lucius sniffed. Damn straight the kid wouldn't do it again, not if he wanted to live past eighteen this time! Be that as it may, Regulus was basically a good kid, but he had a mischievous streak a mile wide, he honestly couldn't help himself. Aside from the obvious tendency to embarrassment, it might possibly be considered endearing…to a point. "It's forgotten—and I mean it. If you tell a single soul…" He'd always found it best to let Regulus imagine what he might do, it was invariably so much more delicious than the actual event.

"I won't," Regulus hurriedly promised.

"Miss Conn, I look forward to seeing you at Aline's wedding."

"I wouldn't miss it," the witch assured him, smiling and piercing him with a gaze that made him squirm as if she were reading his mind—and for all he knew, she might be. She was clairvoyant, no one said anything about whether she was a Legilimens!

"Good day, then." Lucius hustled Regulus out of the shop into the warm August air. He took a deep breath, relieved to be out from under Abigail's spell. It was too soon to make the return tip to Britain, unless he cared to brave another bout or two of vomiting, which he did not. "Let's go have something to eat and look around. I'd like to bring something back for Narcissa. In a couple of hours when your stomach is settled we can start the journey home."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Lucius and Regulus parted ways in Bradford, where Reg thanked him again for his help and his lovely new wand—to which he'd already started becoming attached to—and apparated off to London. When he was gone, Lucius pulled a slip of parchment from his pocket, studied the address, and looked up at the signs nearby. It wasn't long before he'd found the address he was searching for.

"Lucius, this is a surprise!" Dolph backed up to let the wizard pass into his flat. "Is everything alright? Is something wrong with Narcissa?"

"No, everything's fine," Lucius answered, making himself at home. The flat was more modest than he'd anticipated, but the brothers hadn't a lot of money to waste. He sank down on the only wingchair and crossed his legs, glancing around. "Where's Rab?"

"Out looking for a job. You don't get a place like this at no cost," replied Goodman wryly. He flopped onto the couch and summoned a bottle of wine from the kitchenette. "He should be back soon. Wine?"

Lucius shook his head. With Rabastan—Jorab—gone, he could speak freely, but he didn't know how much time he had, so he dared not waste it on small talk. "Dolph, I have a proposition for you."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

At Grimmauld Place, Regulus tried to slip in unnoticed. He'd been gone the better part of the day after telling Sirius he was going to visit Narcissa for a while, and he really wasn't up for interrogation. They'd only been alive for a few days and already Sirius was reverting to the same paranoid, nosy big brother that drove him crazy the first time around.

He'd crept up three steps before Sirius' accusing voice behind him demanded, "Where have you been? And don't even say the Malfoys, because Kreacher went looking for you and you weren't there!"

Holding the railing, Regulus froze, then spun on the ball of one foot to face his brother. "Lucius took me to buy a new wand." He held up the prized object in front of him.

"Ollivander's isn't far, it doesn't take all day," replied Sirius. "And why was _Malfoy_ going with you?"

"We went to a better shop than Ollivander's," retorted Regulus, his irritation growing. "Conn's shop in Salem—and it _does_ take all day!" He was suddenly glad that Sirius' wand had come back through the Veil with him and that Draco had put it in safekeeping; otherwise he'd not have a wand and he'd have insisted on dragging Reg with him to purchase one.

Sirius cocked his head haughtily, sneering as he said, "You probably even let him buy it for you, didn't you?"

"What if I did? It was that or ask Harry for the money, and Lucius can afford it a lot better…and we're already friends. I barely know Harry."

""You shouldn't be hanging around with Malfoy," Sirius grumbled, unable to come up with a better riposte on the spot.

"Why? Because he brought us back and Draco used that water on us? How malevolent of those nasty, repulsive Malfoys!" snapped Regulus. "I'm eighteen and you're not Dad, I can do whatever I want and see whoever I want!" With that he whirled and stomped up the remaining stairs.

When he got to his room he halted abruptly in the doorway, stunned at the image before him: sitting on his bed, embracing and snogging his pillow, was Kreacher. He was aware of how much Kreacher had missed him, but this was a little beyond the pale. Regulus blinked a few times, then cleared his throat.

Unabashed, Kreacher turned his head, tossed the pillow hurriedly aside, and jumped to the floor. "Good Master Regulus! You're home!" In a twinkling he'd toddled across the room to fling his scrawny arms around Regulus' legs. "Kreacher gives thanks every day for Mistress' beloved son come back. Did Good Master have a nice time?"

"It was kind of fun," Regulus admitted. Diagon Alley was okay, but this had been a new, exciting location. However, if he mentioned the projectile vomiting, Kreacher would insist on tucking him in bed and force feeding him food and potions. "Did Sirius treat you well?" He almost laughed at the inane question—Sirius treat Kreacher well? Impossible! He'd always been mean and hateful to the elf.

Kreacher dramatically threw himself prostrate on the floor, pulling at his long ears and wailing, "Oh, Good Master Regulus, Kreacher missed you so! Evil Master Sirius yells at Kreacher and threatens bodily harm to Kreacher when you or Master Harry Potter isn't home."

"I know, he can be a right git," Regulus sympathized. He bent down to pet the bald head affectionately. "He's trying to be better, I think, he just doesn't know how."

As he stroked Kreacher's hairless, wrinkled pate, Regulus mulled over his own words: _Sirius was trying to be better_—he really was trying to take an interest in Regulus' life, he wanted to make up for lost time and be more connected…he was just so bloody _bad_ at it. As incongruous as it sounded, the farther he and Sirius were apart, the easier it was to be close.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Never had the halls of Hogwarts been so empty, not in Narcissa's memory. Of course, the only times she'd been at Hogwarts had been when school was in session, when it didn't carry the eerily quiet that made walking down a corridor seem desolate, almost frightening in a way.

She hugged Ladon a bit tighter to her and wished she'd sent advance notice she was coming. Staying in the manor all the time had become tedious, she needed to get out. What better place to come than to visit Aline to solicit her ideas on the reception? Now that she was here, she didn't quite know where to go…where would Aline be?

Her heels clicked along loudly in the vacant halls, sending out echoes that pounded in the silence. If that damned poltergeist got sight of her he'd surely play one of his stupid pranks, which Severus would get an earful of! _Severus_. He hadn't been in his office when she floo'd in, but she knew where his quarters were located! At a near trot she took off for the dungeons; by the time she arrived she was panting from her rush.

Narcissa knocked on the door, fully expecting Severus' gaunt face to appear. When Aline swung open the door, she recoiled in surprise, though truly it shouldn't be unusual to find Aline in her fiancé's room . "Aline. Hi. I was hoping to see you, but…I guess you and Severus are busy." She felt like an idiot.

"No, not at all. Come in." Aline ushered her into the cozy sitting room decorated in soothing sage walls, red and black tapestries trimmed in gold. Even the furniture was different from how Narcissa remembered it. Now it was a camel colored sofa and arm chairs, with a large flokati rug anchoring them.

Narcissa's eyes flicked around the room in bewilderment. "Severus sure has changed."

Sensing the problem, Aline chuckled under her breath. "This is my room, Narcissa. Severus lives in the Headmaster's quarters."

"Oh! Yes, I forgot," admitted Narcissa. The tip of her ears grew hot as her cheeks tinged pink. "At any rate, I came to see you, I thought we could talk about the reception plans so far."

"That would be lovely. Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you." Narcissa stepped over to the sofa and sat down, placing Ladon beside her feet so he could play on the fluffy rug.

Aline came to join her, seating herself on the opposite end of the couch and gazing down at Ladon, whose tiny fists were busily pulling at the tufts of fur-like material as he babbled to his mother or himself. "How are you doing, Narcissa? Honestly?"

The word _fine_ stuck in her throat. She wasn't fine, no matter how often she repeated it or how much she desired it. She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I have this bizarre feeling like I've lost something, yet I don't know what it might be besides a month of my life. I look at my baby and think it's all my fault he's afraid to be out of my sight. I missed so much in that short time—Ladon is bigger, he's crawling now. It kills me to know he's hurting." She dabbed at her eyes with a small napkin.

"You didn't go away because you wanted to," Aline responded softly. "It's only been a few days, give him time. He'll be fine before you know it, and soon you'll long for the days when he couldn't get enough of you."

She smiled encouragingly, and Narcissa smiled, too. If memory served, that's how it had been with Draco. "You're right, soon I'll be complaining that he _doesn't_ want to be with me." As if understanding what his mother was saying, Ladon half-turned to hug her leg and bury his face against her while his other hand remained firmly clutching the rug. Narcissa stroked his white blond hair. "Is Severus around?"

"No, it's the strangest thing," replied Aline, shaking her head slowly. "A while ago he saw the _Daily Prophet_ on my coffee table and started reading it—on the front page there were interviews with Regulus and Sirius Black. Did you see it?"

Narcissa shook her head mutely. For the most part she preferred to let Lucius read the gossip-filled paper and tell her of any important news. She was sick of reading 'news' that discussed her and her family like slabs of beef…cruel, manipulative, murdering slabs of beef.

"Oh, well the articles asked the Blacks things like to describe their lives before they died, and to describe how they died, and how they're coping with reanimation. It was actually quite interesting." Aline summoned a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses, set them on the table, and poured the liquid as she went on. "Severus got this weird dazed expression, it almost looked like he was paralyzed for a minute, then he got up and said he needed some time alone and he left."

"That is odd," Narcissa commented thoughtfully. She sipped at the tea and nodded her thanks. "He and Reg used to be good friends many years ago. It probably brought up old memories…it was a bad time then, when Voldemort was growing powerful and all the Death Eaters had to be so careful both in life and around the dark lord."

Aline bobbed her head in commiseration. In America, Lord Voldemort had been nothing more than a name; there were no death squads, no terror, no Dark Marks in the sky. Severus had lived one of the hardest lives imaginable, that of a spy in the realm of the madman Voldemort, directed by Dumbledore—not far shy of a megalomaniac himself if she'd correctly interpreted the visions emanating from Severus. For those who lived through it, there had to be lingering effects…but why would it bother Severus now, when he was finally happy? Maybe when he got back he'd talk about it. "So, what have you got in mind for decorations, Narcissa?"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

The last house in the row of filthy, rundown houses on Spinner's End looked exactly as it had when Snape locked it up and warded it against entry almost two years ago. It was still cramped and dingy, the threadbare sofa and armchair the same uncomfortable, lumpy ones that had graced the establishment ever since he was a boy growing up there. Aside from the walls now lined with hundreds of books and the doorways and stairs hidden by the same, not much had changed. He'd seen no reason to change anything, he never visited and hadn't really lived there in decades.

He closed the door and uttered a _lumos_; the electricity had long since been shut off. The light did little to affect the gloomy atmosphere. For a long moment he simply stood there surveying the room blankly, his mind not registering what he saw. Of their own accord his feet led him to the couch and he collapsed onto it, letting the newspaper fall from his clenched fist onto the coffee table where it stirred up a puff of dust.

Sitting with his feet spread, he leaned over to put his elbows on his knees and ducked his head. It had been his fault…all along he hadn't known it, he'd blithely gone on his merry way unaware of what he'd done, the horrific pain he'd caused both physically and emotionally. How might things have been different if he'd tried harder to persuade…if he'd listened…

Every so often his shoulders heaved in silent agony and tears dripped off the end of his nose onto the floor. He didn't know how much time had passed when he finally raised his tearstained face in the dim light. With a swipe of his sleeve he banished the wetness, though his eyes felt gritty and swollen, his stomach ached from the unaccustomed convulsive sobs.

Something niggled in the back of his mind. Something was missing. His hawk eyes swept the room and there it was, mostly hidden behind another pile of books: the television set shoved into the corner, long unused. He doubted one so old even worked anymore, and without electricity it certainly wouldn't work. Nonetheless, he took out his wand to move the stacks of books to another spot in the room, then his wand propelled the telly forward, scraping the bare floor loudly until it reached the worn rug and stopped. That was better; that was how it used to be…yet in the final analysis, it didn't change a thing.


	75. Burning Thirst

Death Eater No More—Chapter Seventy-Five (Burning Thirst)

**August 8, 1999**

"A proposition? I'm not sure whether I ought to rejoice," Dolph said guardedly. He poured himself a glass of wine and gestured once more at Lucius, who declined again.

"Rejoice or no, I'm certain you'll be interested," replied Malfoy dryly. He reclined regally in the armchair, legs crossed. "To my knowledge, you hold no more love for that trouble-making, blood traitor bastard Sirius Black than I do."

Dolph leaned back on the sofa, carefully studying his companion as he swirled the wine in red whorls in his glass. So that was it, that despicable Black. On principle alone, Dolph had no problem with disposing of the lout, nor did it in any way surprise him that Malfoy should come to him—Lucius never was one to get his own hands dirty if he could avoid it. But things were different now.

Clearing his throat, Dolph answered, "I presume you want me to kill him. Don't get me wrong, I don't object to his death, but I'm thinking Marshal might be the better choice. I promised Rabby I'd change, and I really am trying."

Lucius rolled his eyes as he held up a hand and shook his head. "Although the notion of Black dying a prolonged, agonizing death is more than passingly pleasing, if I wanted you to murder him I'd have said so up front. This concerns something that Regulus told me." He bent forward, grey eyes piercing Wendolph. "Black has mentioned trying to access Bella's vault, and I don't want that scum getting his grubby hands on what rightfully belongs to—"

"Me," Dolph finished for him. His own dark eyes hardened. "Except I'm officially dead. Kind of hard to own property."

"With the proper lawyers and friends like me, such technicalities can be overcome," Lucius smirked. "Narcissa and I signed a contract with the Gringotts goblins when we married, making everything in the Malfoy vault jointly owned. I believe you and Bella did the same." Lucius cocked an eyebrow, waiting.

"Yes, we did, and when she passed on, everything became mine by default, as per the contract," Wendolph concurred grumpily as if the question needn't be asked. "What does it matter? I think we've already established that I'm in no position to claim it."

"True. However, since it belongs to _you_, only one of _your_ relatives can legally petition for it," Lucius pronounced, grinning like a fox cornering a fat hen.

"Problem: Rabby's also officially dead," snapped his comrade, growing ever more ill-tempered by the second. He'd long since made his peace with relinquishing the vault, he didn't need to be reminded of it…nor of who might stand to gain from it with the Lestrange clan out of the way.

"I've thought it over at length; I can help you acquire what's yours." Lucius pushed himself back in the chair and lazily crossed his legs again. Before this he'd not really given any thought to Bella's vault at all, yet now that Black could hypothetically fight for it, he'd made a concerted effort to concoct an elaborate plan in his mind to thwart the creep.

"And this is where the proposition comes in?" asked Dolph.

"Yes. I want nothing for myself, but once you are in possession of your funds, I request a portion for Regulus, who has no money of his own thanks to his idiot brother bequeathing it to Potter. I also think it would be a nice gesture to give something to Nott, who did help break you out of Azkaban."

Goodman nodded his agreement despite the feeling that it was all a moot point. "Alright, done. How do I get the money?"

Lucius' triumphant expression held as he drawled, "Mr. Norman is one of the best lawyers in Britain—and my lawyer, naturally. With a word from me, he will see to the transfer of ownership without the inconvenience of litigation or publicity. While _you_ may be officially dead, your closest blood relative, your uncle Varden Lestrange, isn't."

"No, he would be _genuinely_ dead," Dolph growled, then paused to read the look of smug victory dripping from Lucius. Comprehension dawned on him. "I see what you mean. I think I need to go visit Nott."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Daddy, Uncle Dolph's here!" Missy's shrill scream echoed up the staircase while simultaneously rendering Dolph temporarily hearing impaired. Udo Nott stomped down the stairs at a run, scowling at the girl.

"Missy, don't scream like that, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" Nott turned to his friend, smiling apologetically and offering a hand. "Good to see you again, Dolph. Any particular occasion, or just visiting?"

Dolph smiled slyly as he absently patted the little girl's head. "We have work to do, Nott. If we can find what I need, both of us will be better off for it. Where did you put the rest of Varden's clothes and accessories?"

"You mean the ones he didn't take on his trip?" Missy interjected, wide eyed.

"Yes, those," Dolph replied, nodding.

"I had the elf pack them in a trunk and put them in the basement," said Nott, his brow furrowing in bemusement. "Why?"

Leading the way, Dolph threw open the door to the cellar. "Varden most assuredly left some hairs behind on his hats and cloaks. I'll explain as we search, but suffice it to say I'll be going to see Snape next. If Snape doesn't have a Polyjuice potion languishing on his shelf, just waiting for the final ingredient, I'm a monkey's uncle!"

Missy screwed up her face before exploding with, "I'm not a monkey!" She smacked Dolph with her dolly and bolted for the stairs to tattle to her mother.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

**August 10, 1999**

The Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts seemed lonely, desolate in the hazy warmth of the morning. The isolating silence disappeared amid the whoops and laughter of the two young men zooming in on their brooms, both in pursuit of the recently released snitch that soared in a patternless frenzy.

As the snitch dipped rapidly down toward the field, Harry and Regulus dove down side by side after it, their hair streaming behind them. Casting a sidelong glance at his rival, Reg smirked, drew up one leg, and kicked hard to his right. The tail end of Harry's broom spun out wildly, sending him into a tailspin. He righted himself in time to avoid a nasty spill, but not in time to prevent Regulus from swooping in on the snitch and snatching it out of the air, then holding it aloft in victory.

Hovering on his broom, he watched as Harry approached looking a tad put out. "This is fun, Harry. I haven't played since I graduated."

"You cheated," Harry accused, righting his glasses that had jostled loose on his near-fall.

Regulus stared back at his blankly. "Did not."

"You kicked my broom," said Harry sourly. "That's against the rules, in case you forgot."

"Oh, the _rules_," laughed the other. He shrugged indifferently. "Who plays by the rules outside of an actual game? In this kind of contest, anything goes except hexing. Ask Sirius, he used to play the same way."

"Why does that not amaze me," mused Harry, shaking his head. He looked at Reg and smiled slyly. "Okay, we'll play your way. I can be just as sneaky as you."

"I hope so; it's much more exciting this way." Regulus released the snitch into the air, the two young men counted together to twenty to give it a chance to hide, and then they were off.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

When the pair returned to Grimmauld Place, brooms slung over their shoulders and faces flushed, Sirius was busy digging through piles of papers in the kitchen. Earlier he'd gone out on an unnamed errand, leaving the boys to their own devices. He looked up at them barging in. "Went flying, huh? How was it?"

"Incredible!" Regulus burst out, setting the broom in the corner.

"Great!" said Harry at the same time.

"Harry's a really good seeker," Regulus stated as he poured himself a glass of juice. "Want some?" He poured another glass for Harry.

"Thanks—for the compliment, too," Harry responded, accepting the juice. He was a bit taken aback at the praise, considering Sirius had warned him so thoroughly of Regulus' indoctrination by the forces of evil and all that. He'd not even anticipated having such a grand time with the boy, yet he couldn't recall ever enjoying Quidditch more. "You're pretty good yourself. I knew the first time I saw that photo of you with the Slytherin team that you were a seeker."

"That's all well and good," interrupted Sirius, "but I need to ask you a favor, Harry. I need some cash for a lawyer."

Potter's eyes grew round behind his lenses, giving him the distinct look of an owl, complete with spiky hair for ears. "Are you in trouble?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that. I believe I'll need to hire someone to sort through the legal mumbo-jumbo to get to Bella's vault."

Here Regulus stepped up and slammed his glass onto the table. It shattered, spraying them all with orange juice and bits of glass. "We talked about this! That's not your money, Sirius! If anything, it should go to Cissy and Andy."

"Um," Harry murmured, nudging forward. "I have plenty of wealth that my parents left me. I'll just give you back yours."

"I accept!" Regulus responded quickly before Sirius could object.

"That's nice of you, Harry, but between me and Reg it really doesn't amount to a lot," said Sirius. He'd already taken out his wand and cleaned up the mess his brother had wrought, then pointedly addressed the same. "Common Law stipulates that inheritance goes through the males of the family. It's always been that way for the Blacks."

"Oh, _now_ you're concerned with tradition," snarled Regulus. He barely held himself back from dumping the rest of the juice container contents on Sirius' papers. "It's not fair to our cousins."

"Boo-hoo. It's not like Cissy needs it, and I visited Andy today. She wants nothing to do with anything that Bella touched." He crossed his arms and glared up at his brother sulking beside him. "You stand to gain from it, what are you complaining about?"

"It's underhanded…Cissy doesn't even—"

"And your _dear friend_ Lucius would never be underhanded," retorted Sirius. "Who knows what kind of dark artifacts might be in there? I don't doubt he's got his eye on that vault."

"Why would he? He's rich," Regulus huffed. "If he wanted it, he'd have gone after it already."

"You seem to know him very well." Now Sirius was angling solely to tick off his brother, and it was working as it always had when they were children. "I have to wonder what Malfoy does for you to make you so loyal."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," replied Sirius innocently, eyebrows raised.

"Sod off," Regulus snapped under his breath. He turned on his heel to head out of the room, and as he got to the doorway he heard his brother's demanding tone.

"Where are you going? You always run off when you're losing."

Originally Regulus had only intended to storm up the stairs and brood in his room till he thought of a way to get Sirius back for his taunting. Now he spun back to face the man, his Slytherin sneer firmly in place. "I'm going to see Severus. What of it?"

"You never learn! Snivellus is—"

Regulus walked calmly out, not looking back, letting his brother rant to the thin air. He slammed the door loudly behind him.

Harry put his glass on the table and pulled out the chair opposite his godfather. It felt weird…wrong, even…to scold the wizard who, while no longer old enough to be his father, had the experience and memories of such a man. Even so, if he didn't do it, who would? Mrs. Black? Her screeching portrait meant nothing to Sirius, he'd threatened to tear out the wall and her with it if she persisted in her carping.

Sinking into the chair and staring gloomily at the tabletop, Harry murmured, "Sirius, I wish you wouldn't say mean things about Snape. He's done a lot of good for our world, he helped me in many ways, and he gets very little recognition for it."

Thunderstruck, Sirius gawped at him. Harry was defending Snape? The boy had informed him on much of what had passed in the three years of his absence, yet he never thought he'd hear _anyone_ defend that greasy git! "What's happened to you? You like Snape now?"

"I didn't say I _like_ him," Harry backpedaled, feeling guilty for his disavowal, true though it was. To his knowledge, very few people _liked_ Snape. "I respect him and all he's gone through. I know how hard it was to fight Voldemort, and he did it year in and year out while we all hated him. He can be mean and insufferable and petty and—anyway, deep down he's a good man."

"Deep down he's a Death Eater," hissed Sirius.

"No, he's not!" Harry shouted, startling himself and shocking Black into silence. "And another thing: I don't like Lucius Malfoy any more than you do, but Reg evidently does. If you keep pushing him, you'll only alienate him."

Sirius gestured helplessly with his hands, a kind of supplication. "Someone's got to keep him from bad influences. I didn't succeed last time—"

"And you're not going to this time if that's how you go about it!" Harry raged, pounding his fist on the table. "He's not stupid, no matter what you think—I recall you telling me he was an idiot, softheaded! Well, he's not, and you can't keep treating him like you're doing."

"I want him to be somebody, Harry. With them dragging him down, that's never gonna happen."

Harry lowered the volume on his voice, though his conviction didn't waver. "Reg told me that Snape and Malfoy both tried to talk him out of becoming a Death Eater. When that failed, Malfoy did what he could to train him, to keep Voldemort from hurting and punishing him. That sounds more like looking out for him to me. Speaking of which, I insist on giving you and Reg the gold you left me. I can't in good conscience keep it, so don't argue. I'm going to Gringotts tomorrow to withdraw the funds."

"When did you get so bossy?" Sirius mumbled, but his visage showed his pride in his godson.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

For the second time that day, Regulus Black made his way to Hogwarts, this time by apparition. He landed at the main gate, swung it open, and started to meander across the inviting, soft grass. How long had it been since he'd felt such plush greenery? A lifetime ago, literally…yet to his mind only a few months since he'd graduated. It was all so strange, everything had changed while he had not.

He found his feet leading him to the lake, where he flopped down on the bank to throw small stones into the water to watch them splash. It was relaxing here, calm and quiet without the stress and upset of Sirius' constant bitching and tearing down Reg's friends. Why did he have to be like that? He'd always been like that. Had Reg continually harped on the Gryffindork pukes, the blood traitor and the mudblood tramp? Okay, maybe he had a little, but nothing compared to the vitriol Sirius had for Severus and Lucius.

"Hagrid, no! The other way!" a desperate voice shrieked, shattering the tranquility.

Regulus jumped to his feet, whirling around in search of the source. Some distance away a boy was floating at head height and surprising speed toward the lake, thrashing his limbs as he called out. Jerking his head to the left, Regulus spied Hagrid lumbering across the grounds, his wand pointed at Bayly Young, his hand twitching as if trying to stop the spell.

In an instant Regulus whipped out his wand as he raced toward them; he aimed it at Bayly, uttered a nonverbal spell, and pulled. Bayly halted in midair and began moving in the other direction.

"Hagrid, what are you doing?" bellowed Regulus, sorely tempted to hex the big oaf, if only he weren't occupied. "Lower your wand!"

The giant did as ordered, relieved to see his out-of-control handiwork remedied so easily. When Young's feet touched the ground, Hagrid cried out, "Sorry there, Bayly! I don' reckon I quite had it after all. Are yeh alright?"

"Yeah, just embarrassed," replied the lad, blushing to corroborate his statement and self-consciously adjusting his clothing. "Thanks, Regulus."

"Mate, he could've dropped you in the lake! The squid—there is still a squid, yeah? It could've eaten you!" Regulus frowned at Hagrid, vaguely wondering when the giant had acquired a wand…hadn't it been broken when he'd done something to get himself thrown in prison for a stint? That's what he'd heard from Lucius.

The huge man stood there looking forlornly guilty, twirling the end of his bushy beard with one massive finger. "I wouldn't ha' never hurt yeh, Bayly, not a-purpose."

"I know. It's my fault, I'm the teacher," Bayly murmured. He thumped Hagrid affectionately on the back and braced himself for the giant's reciprocation, which knocked him to his knees despite his preparation. He staggered up. "Regulus, what are you doing here?"

"Escaping Sirius," said the other wryly, forcing a grin. "Is Severus around?"

"He's probably in the Headmaster's office…or his room…or Professor Conn's room," said Bayly, gesturing up toward the castle with a jerk of his thumb. "You want me to get him?"

"No, I don't want to be a bother, I'll find him. You and Hagrid keep practicing." Under his breath he chortled, "Lord knows the giant could use it."

As he traipsed through the empty corridors of Hogwarts, it felt as if he'd never left. Even the sinking sensation in his stomach that accompanied the approach to Dumbledore's office felt oddly familiar. But no, it wasn't Dumbledore's office anymore, it belonged to his old friend; that alone seemed even more bizarre than Dumbledore being dead. A snarky, impatient ex-Death Eater who notoriously didn't like children held the highest post here…who'd have thought?

Repaired after the final battle of Hogwarts, the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to the staircase leading to the Headmaster's office glared defiantly at the youth, mockingly challenging him. What was the password? Everyone knew the sweets-gobbling Dumbledore always used candy names, only Severus wasn't exactly a 'candy person'.

"Um…flobberworm," he tried tentatively, without success. "Detention? Axe-murder? Dammit, Snape, let me in!" To his delighted consternation the stone slid away, allowing him access to the spiral stairs, which he took two at a time.

Severus glanced up from the stack of paperwork on the new firsties to enter in September. He seemed sincerely surprised. "Regulus. I didn't expect you."

"Yeah, I kind of guessed you wouldn't, what with the way you've been ignoring my owls and avoiding me," retorted the other as he crossed the room, gazing up at the portraits and items on the shelves. His previous good mood had vanished, he now wore a sullen, hurt expression.

"I've been busy, as you can see." Snape indicated the parchments he'd been scrutinizing, conveniently brushing aside the fact that he _had_ been avoiding the boy. He got up and rounded the desk. It wasn't like Regulus to pout, he rarely sank below a genial disposition unless pushed to it. "What's wrong?" _As if I can't guess. The mutt surely has a paw in this!_

Regulus shrugged one shoulder. Now that he was here, he felt suddenly shy about the reason. "It's Sirius." Was that self-satisfaction he saw on Snape's face? "Living with him is ruining our relationship. I was thinking—I mean, once you and Aline get married, you'll live at the Prince estate, right? It's bigger and loads nicer than that hovel at Spinner's End, so I thought…would it be alright if I stayed at Spinner's End?"

"In my _hovel_?" Severus queried, quirking an eyebrow. It may be true, but it didn't sound nice to hear. "I don't see any harm in it, I suppose." And it sure beat living with that wretched Black! "Be advised the floo has been disconnected, and I'll need to lower the wards."

"Great, thanks. I'll get my stuff and meet you there."

"Agreed." Severus' hawk-like gaze swept over the lad, at the dejected stance, the less than joyful countenance that—one could speculate—should be ecstatic at parting ways with Sirius Black. "If there is something else, spit it out."

Easier said than done. In all the time Regulus had known Snape, the latter had been sarcastic and often downright mean, but Regulus had merely assumed it was Snape's way. Now that circumstances were altered, now that so much time had passed and Severus was acting weird, he'd begun to wonder how one-sided their friendship was, whether Severus had ever held any affection for him at all.

At last he said, "You're letting me stay at your place because it's empty, it's no skin off your nose. If you had to live there with me…never mind."

"Don't give me that 'never mind' crap! If you've something to say, say it." Severus crossed his arms over his thin chest and waited, his face set in an annoyed scowl capable of paralyzing firsties on sight.

"It's pity," Regulus choked out. "And hate. I have nowhere to go and you despise Sirius. You can stick it to Sirius by offering me shelter; if it wasn't for him, you wouldn't care what happened to me!"

Severus' arms dropped to his sides at the same moment his jaw dropped open. How could Reg say that when they'd been such good friends? As if seeing the younger man for the first time, Severus simply stared in dismay, turmoil raging in his mind. Admittedly, he hadn't been much of a friend of late, not since that newspaper article…

His mouth worked, trying to force out words that hadn't yet been fully formed in his brain. At last, head hanging so his chin nearly touched his chest, he uttered softly, "I cried when you died."

Regulus started, stunned. Snape wasn't one to break down at the drop of a hat, and certainly not for someone he didn't care for. "You did?"

Severus raised his black eyes to bore into Regulus' brown, his voice thick with emotion. "What did you think I'd do—dance on your grave? We were friends, Reg, good friends."

"And I still feel that way!" Regulus exclaimed. "But it's been twenty years for you. It's like you forgot."

"I didn't forget."

"Then why are you ignoring me? Merlin's breath, Severus, I just came back from the dead and you act like I don't exist!"

"Because I'm the one who killed you!" Severus blurted. He swallowed hard but refused to look away in the awkward, chilling silence. "It's because of me that you died."

"What do you mean?" asked Reg, his voice trembling ever so slightly.

Severus sat back on the edge of his desk lest his legs betray him with their nervous quaking. "The potion that killed you, _brinnan durstig_…I made it." His voice faltered and broke. "It's an obscure formula, the dark lord commanded me to find it and make it. All these years I had no idea how you died, I didn't know until I read it in the paper that you'd drunk the poison that I made! I'm so sorry." He averted his eyes and willed back the wetness threatening to spill from his eyes.

"Huh." Regulus cocked his head to process the new information. Severus felt guilty, that's why he'd been avoiding him! Silly, really. It wasn't like Snape had bottled the poison and rammed it down Reg's throat, after all. If the dark lord ordered it brewed, Snape had better do it or he'd have been pushing up daisies himself. And Snape hadn't forced Reg to do anything, he'd made the decision all on his own. He didn't blame anyone, least of all Severus!

Aware that Snape would probably pitch him away but determined nonetheless, Regulus cautiously walked over and laid a hand on the other wizard's shoulder. Surprisingly, the only reaction he got was a minor flinch. "It doesn't matter who brewed the potion. I came to you and asked about it; you told me exactly what it did, what would happen to those who drank it—the burning thirst, the awful pain, death. I _knew_ it would kill me and I drank it anyway. How can that be your fault? And hey, I'm back!" He spread his arms and his lips split into a wide smile.

"Like a bad penny," Severus griped roughly. His obsidian eyes gave off a hint of sparkle and he couldn't hold back a grin of his own.


	76. Settled and Unsettling

Death Eater No More—Chapter Seventy-Six (Settled and Unsettling)

Standing in the bathroom, hands braced on the sink as he bent in close to the mirror, Dolph studied himself yet again. Every so often his face still surprised him, he forgot he was different. He raised one hand to his cheek to stroke the stubble, then lowered it to his waist where a gold pocket watch dangled at the end of a fob. He lifted the watch and clicked it open to check the time. He hated waiting. He'd always been good at it, people called him patient, but he hated it nonetheless.

In front of him on the basin sat a small glass containing a nasty looking, grayish-green gloppy substance. His eyes flitted to it and back to the watch. Once he drank the potion he'd have one hour, not a minute more unless he took along a flask of the wretched stuff; he'd really rather not, yet he must be prepared for all contingencies.

Bracing himself, Dolph dropped into the potion the single hair that he'd been clutching in his other hand. In one deliberate gulp he swallowed half the contents of the glass and immediately commenced to gagging violently. Once his legs stopped shaking, he again stood upright to scrutinize his appearance and he recoiled at the sight: a man of sixty, longish grey hair, bearing an eerily keen resemblance to Dolph's father. So far so good.

Dolph took the glass, upended it into the small flask he'd brought with him, wedged the cork in tightly, and slipped it into his breast pocket. Time to face the music. He threw open the bathroom door to find his brother pacing nervously. The expression of abject horror that crossed Rabby's countenance made Dolph cringe again.

"I'm sorry, Rabby, there's no other way," he explained softly, despising the foreign voice coming from his throat.

"I know," answered his brother, shaking off his initial revulsion. "It's your money; if you have to use Varden to get it, I don't object. Do you have the items the elf brought?"

Wendolph nodded and patted another pocket. "Varden's official birth certificate, genuine family lineage chart from 1791, and the family ring my nephew Rodolphus forfeited when he went to Azkaban." Dolph smiled wryly, holding up his hand and wiggling the middle finger swathed in a clunky gold ring set with a square amethyst surrounded by _Lestrange_. "I'll give them to Mr. Norman, then we're going together to the bank."

"Good luck," said Rab.

He stepped out of the way to allow the other wizard to pass. Dolph clapped him on the shoulder and headed out the door. Once he'd gone, Jorab collapsed onto the sofa frowning. Seeing even the image of Uncle Varden still had the ability to stir up powerful memories, not all of them bad, and that alone disturbed him. Why couldn't he just hate Varden like Dolph did? It would make things so much simpler. It was hard to leave his old life behind when necessity dictated they revisit it now and again.

He sighed. What if this scheme didn't work? The money the real Varden had procured from selling off the Lestrange properties while his nephews were in prison had been used for Varden's daily living—frugal though it had been—for fourteen years. Because the estates hadn't been large or in the best repair, nor had Varden held out for an equitable price, the sum he got had been substantially less than they were worth. Under duress he'd given Rabby and Dolph what remained of the proceeds, which when divided between the brothers amounted to enough to support them for a couple of years at best.

Perhaps he ought to go out looking for employment again. The only problem was he had no marketable skills. Not surprisingly, employers didn't exactly deem dueling, torture, or murder a scintillating resume. If only he could figure out what he was good at!

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Lucius apparated in front of Gringotts, then glanced about before looking up at the gleaming white building. He'd got here precisely on time, meaning the others were late or early. It irritated him: if he went into the bank now and they weren't there, the goblins would expect to lead him to his vault or perform some other function there; if he loitered about outside, he'd likely draw unwanted attention.

He tossed his long hair over his shoulder with a flip of his hand. His mouth settled into a grim line as he slowly started up the steps leading to the bank. Dolph would certainly get an earful if Lucius had gone to all this planning for nothing! He heard a light 'pop' behind him and turned cautiously.

Striding for him were Mr. Norman and Dolph-Varden; the latter wore a smug smile. The attorney called out, "Hello, Lucius! Lucky coincidence to see you here!"

"Indeed," answered Malfoy, shaking the man's hand. "And Varden Lestrange—how many years has it been since I saw you?"

"Quite a few—not since you used to visit when Roddy and Rabby were boys, God rest their souls." Dolph-Varden made a show of removing his hat and hanging his head in a prayerful posture. If Lucius weren't playing the part of a sympathetic acquaintance, he'd have burst into laughter. Such inappropriate responses tended to raise suspicions, after all, though he still felt a tug at the corner of his mouth.

"A terrible shame, their untimely deaths," Malfoy agreed, nodding sagely. From the corner of his eye he spied Albert Runcorn coming up and added, "Though if Azkaban officials had done their jobs, the Lestrange brothers would be safely locked away, not murdered." Runcorn gave him a smoldering glare as he passed. Lucius smirked back at him.

"Shall we?" proposed Mr. Norman. He gestured at the steps and began to walk with Lucius on one side and Lestrange on the other. As a favor to Lucius he'd agreed to assist Varden, the uncle of Malfoy's old friends. It was an easy task, really, and Lucius always compensated him well for his trouble. However, he didn't particularly like dealing with goblins, one never knew when they might pull trouble out of a hat…nobody he knew liked that part of the job.

"So, is everything in order, are you here to collect the things from the vault?" asked Lucius in a nonchalant manner.

"No, we need to verify Lestrange's identity with the goblins before they'll allow that," said Norman. "I've taken care of the Ministry paperwork."

They passed through both sets of doors into the huge marble room, and it took only a moment for several goblins to notice them. One of them hopped off his stool and toddled over to them. "Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Norman." His slits for eyes examined the other man coolly. "Mr.?"

"Lestrange," said Dolph-Varden clearly, letting his voice carry through the place. "Varden Lestrange. My nephew Rodolphus owned a vault here with his wife Bellatrix. Now that they are deceased, I have come to claim the contents of the vault."

The goblin's black eyes widened to almost normal proportions and his brows rose high onto his bald brown forehead. "I'll need to retrieve the papers on that vault. Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Norman, shall I summon assistance for you?"

Lucius merely shook his head. He'd have to stay behind to make a pretense of visiting his vault after Norman left, but for now he wanted to watch the goings-on. "Do you mind if I observe the proceedings? I've never witnessed the transfer of a vault."

"No, I don't mind," said Dolph-Varden, shrugging one shoulder.

Mr. Norman pulled a folded parchment from his robes and presented it to the goblin. "I've taken the liberty of drawing up a transfer of ownership concerning Rodolphus Lestrange's property. No doubt once you've reviewed the contract between Bella and Rodolphus, you'll have no choice but to agree that the contents of the vault belonged unequivocally to Rodolphus. Hence, Varden here is within his right to claim it as closest living relative to Rodolphus."

"I'll be right back," mumbled the goblin. "Won't you come wait at the counter?" He turned and dashed behind the long counter spanning the length of the room and disappeared through a door so short it was almost hidden from the humans' view. Several people in the immediate vicinity stared curiously at this relative of the dead Death Eater, though when he made eye contact they hastily looked away.

When the goblin returned another, older goblin accompanied him. This one looked as if he'd been around since Gringotts began; he walked slowly, hunched over, his hair wispy white strands, his skin pale for a goblin. The younger pointed a long finger at Lestrange and the two made their way over to the trio standing patiently at the counter.

The old goblin struggled up onto the stool opposite them and spread out the contract Dolph immediately recognized as the one he'd signed with Bella all those years ago. In a creaky, raspy voice the goblin announced, "Everything in the vault belonged to Rodolphus Lestrange. Ministry officials have declared him dead; therefore I must verify that you are his uncle in order to transfer ownership."

Mr. Norman fished Varden's birth certificate and the genealogy from his pocket and handed them over. The goblin scrutinized them, then held out one long-fingered hand, palm up. "Ring."

For a second Dolph hesitated; Mr. Norman nudged him and gestured at his ring. He jerked the heirloom off his finger and plopped it into the withered hand. The goblin took it gingerly between thumb and forefinger; suddenly he pressed it down hard onto the contract, the amethyst digging into the parchment until it seemed it would rip the paper form the force. A blue circle of light formed around the ring, glowing like a mutant firefly.

"It is genuine," asserted the goblin. He dropped the ring carelessly on the counter as if its touch offended him. "We have seen enough proof."

Here Norman elbowed his way to the front. "Then let us discontinue the hurdles and commence to completing the appropriate forms. Mr. Lestrange has signed the transfer of ownership to be filed with the Ministry, he would like to complete your paperwork forthwith. I'd like to look it over before he sets his name to anything." It wasn't unheard of for the goblins to sneak clauses into a contract giving them a share of the wealth.

"One more thing," Lucius interjected before the old goblin could flee. "I happen to know there are curses on that vault. Mr. Lestrange expects you'll put your top curse-breaker on it, and notify him when the deed is done." Surely Dolph could have broken the curses himself, but _Varden_ could not. Every detail must be attended to.

"At which time I'll send my elf Nels to clean out the vault," finished Dolph-Varden. "He'll bring this ring as evidence of his identity."

The old goblin glowered at the three humans even as he bowed politely. Filthy wand carriers going to take gold away from Gringotts! Nonetheless, he stooped along into the hidden room to pick up the forms, though he'd let the younger goblin take it from here. He needed a nap.

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"I'm not joking, Sirius, that's what I heard," Harry insisted. "I was going into Gringotts and I saw Mr. Malfoy, his lawyer Mr. Norman, and another man. After Norman and the other left, Malfoy went to his vault or something, and the place was abuzz, everybody talking about a 'Lestrange' and Bella's vault."

"Lestrange?" repeated Sirius, sitting up straight on the couch, eyebrows dipped in thought. "First name?"

"Um…Varden, I think. I've never heard of the name."

"I have," Sirius replied with a sense of foreboding. Damn it, he'd forgotten all about Varden! Of course, he hadn't stopped to consider for a second that Bella would sign over her money to her husband, which apparently she had. When she died, that gave Rodolphus total ownership and gave a _Lestrange_ relative first crack at the vault, not a _Black_. "Those Death Eaters that you told me are dead—Rodolphus and Rabastan—Varden is their father's brother. He's been a veritable recluse since I was your age. This blows to hell any chance of me getting at that vault!"

He flung himself back into a reclining position to sulk. Harry said Lucius Malfoy was there; he must have been the one to inform the hermit Varden that Rodolphus had died, must have prodded him to settle the affairs. Damn that Malfoy, always sticking that pointed nose where it didn't belong!

"Here." Harry shoved a heavy package into Sirius' hands, its sudden weight on his stomach winding him. "There's your money from my vault. At least you've got something, you're not a pauper."

Sirius grunted and heaved the load onto the floor. "Thanks, kid. Have you seen Reg around today? I ought to give him half."

Harry shook his head solemnly. "I don't think he came home yesterday."

"Great, he's probably hiding out at Hogwarts with that Headmaster-wannabe," groused the other. He chanced a sidelong glance at Harry to see if he'd upset the boy again. "I'll give him a day or two to cool off, then if he doesn't come home on his own, I guess I'll have to drag him."

"Sirius, you can't force him to live here," reasoned Harry.

"Okay, okay, I'll talk to him and convince him to come back," Sirius amended. Failing that, he might have to shake some sense into the brat…when Harry wasn't around to object.

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Regulus didn't need anybody checking up on him, he wasn't an infant, an invalid, or even an adolescent; Severus acknowledged that. He simply wanted to see how his friend was doing. He'd had the electricity and water turned on early this morning, which assuredly made bathing and using the toilet more…well, possible. Tomorrow he'd look into re-establishing the floo connection.

Snape opened the front door and stopped cold. Gliding backward, he looked over the front of the house; yes, this was his, but what in bloody blazes had happened inside? In two strides he'd reentered and closed the door with a bang, hoping to summon Regulus with the racket.

What he hadn't expected was for Reg to come trotting in from the kitchen with Aline and Narcissa on his heels, all of them grinning like Cheshire cats. Severus crossed his arms and scowled, which only seemed to make them smile more broadly. Honestly, he needed to start practicing in front of the mirror again, something must be off!

"What did you do to my house?" he demanded.

"We redecorated," Narcissa chirped brightly. "And high time! Lucius has complained about the décor since the first time he saw this place." She jostled the baby staring intently at Snape with a frightened expression on his tiny face.

"Lucius is a meddling a—"

"And doesn't it look so much nicer?" asked Aline hopefully. From Snape's own admission she knew he held no emotional attachment to anything in the house…only to the house itself. She swept her arm grandly toward the warm sand-colored walls, deep purple curtains with a large matching rug under a sturdy light pine sofa, two chairs, end tables, and a coffee table. A blend of camel and violet plaid covered the seat cushions. The doorways and stairs had been cleared and opened up by the absence of his hundreds of books.

"The colors really brighten the room," Narcissa observed aloud. "We had one of my elves move your library to the Prince estate, which makes this room look so much larger and less…depressing."

"And I helped!" Regulus beamed, absolutely smug in his delight. Traces of paint on his clothing gave testimony to the fact. "I painted the _Muggle_ way! Well, except for the hard spots and cleaning up little messes on the baseboards and ceiling."

Aline sidled up to her fiancé and clutched his arm as she hugged him. "So? How do you like it?"

"Don't you women have wedding plans to attend to?" he responded blandly. Upon seeing her face fall, his own heart sank. He entwined an arm around her waist and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. "You know I'm not much for decorating, Aline. If you and Narcissa think it's lovely, I'm sure it is. And Reg seems very pleased with it."

"So you don't hate it?" asked Aline.

"Of course not. I appreciate the effort and the time you all put into it. In fact, if you'd like to do the rest of the house, have at it. If it makes you happy, it makes me happy." The expression of sincerity on his face was no fake. He honestly didn't care what the house looked like, though he had to say it was brighter and cleaner now. "Buy whatever you need and charge it to me." After twenty-odd years of working at Hogwarts, free room and board, Severus had accumulated a good deal of gold in his vault at Gringotts. He could easily afford to redo the whole place and have most of his money left…unless Narcissa wanted to buy uber-expensive trinkets that she was accustomed to.

A surge of love flashed through him. Aline had undoubtedly come up with the idea to do this to surprise him, aside from making the place more habitable for Regulus. He bent down to plant a kiss on her lips, and was a bit taken aback by her impulsive lunge at him. The next thing he knew the two of them were necking like teenagers, their hands roaming up and down in a frenzy of desire.

A gentle cough interrupted them. Regulus, who thought Severus in love was the best thing since coming back from the dead, smirked and chuckled, "We're still here, you know."

"Bully for you," Snape retorted, pulling away from his fiancée panting slightly. He dared not turn around just yet, he wasn't wearing an outer robe to hide the excitement pressing uncomfortably on his trousers. "Narcissa and Lucius have done far more in my presence."

Unable to dispute that, Narcissa chortled to herself. "Yes, Severus, we have addled you a time or two with our affections. I suppose turnabout is fair play. but now that you've got me thinking of it, I should go home and see if Lucius is back yet." Maybe she could get Draco to watch Ladon…

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"And so, my love, it appears all the legal hoops have been jumped through. Within days, Dolph will be in possession of his rightful property." Lucius snuggled up close to his wife in the ballroom where she'd been decorating when he arrived. He always felt a sense of empowerment when he'd gotten away with something. He swayed gently with her, his lips smiling dreamily as he watched their son sleeping in the crib only meters away.

Narcissa interlocked her fingers around her husband as she leaned her head on his chest and swayed with him. They didn't need music, their love provided the necessary tune. "I never doubted for a moment that you'd make everything alright, darling." Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper. "You know exactly how to get the job done."

Lucius' smile morphed into a leer. He nuzzled his face up to Narcissa's neck to nibble playfully. "You're no slouch yourself."

Their lips met, locked, and melded together. Time seemed to stand still while they feverishly explored each other's bodies and sank to the floor clasped in one another's arms. They'd begun to fumble out of their clothes when a dismayed voice caused them to stop in place, Lucius astride his wife, his shirt off and pants unzipped, Narcissa's skirt hiked up around her hips.

"Oh, my God! Don't you two know what a bedroom is?" Shielding his eyes, Draco quickly turned around. This wasn't a sight he'd soon forget! Merlin's ghost, he'd probably have nightmares for weeks! "Aunt Andy is here to help you, Mother. Shall I tell her you're…occupied?" He grimaced.

"Why don't you entertain her for half an hour—" Lucius began, to be cut off by Narcissa tipping him off of her.

"Give us a minute to get dressed, then send her up," Narcissa answered, flushing. Great, now she'd have those blasted being-caught-nude-in-public nightmares for weeks!


	77. August 15, 1999

Death Eater No More—Chapter Seventy-Seven (August 15, 1999)

**August 15, 1999**

In the sitting room at the Prince estate, Severus and Aline waited for her family to arrive. She paced around the old chairs in a nervous, mindless pattern while Severus observed her with some concern. It wasn't like her to show her anxiety so plainly, but that wasn't what had him worried: _why_ was she so anxious? He'd think she'd welcome with open arms the chance to see her family after a year's absence.

The floo belched to life and a man walked out—tall, his brown hair flecked with gray reminiscent of Aline's rich chestnut brown, his straight nose and dark eyes near duplicates of hers. "Sweetie-pie!" he exclaimed, opening his arms.

"Hi, Dad!" Aline threw herself into his loving embrace, smiling from ear to ear as she reveled in his cuddles. "I missed you so much."

The wizard had no opportunity to answer before the floo spit out another Conn, this time a sturdy woman whose finely chiseled features retained the handsome qualities she'd preened over in her youth. The gaze with which she surveyed the room declared her wholly unimpressed. "Aline, don't I get a hug?"

"Hi, Mom," said Aline, detaching from her father to embrace her mother. "How was your trip?"

"About as unpleasant as apparating half a dozen times across continents to reach a floo connected to this house can be," replied Mrs. Conn, shrugging. Her hazel eyes latched onto Severus and raked him up and down until he felt like a specimen in his old lab. "You must be Severus."

"Mom and Dad, this is Severus Snape," Aline rushed out as she stepped over beside him and secured an arm about his waist. "Severus, my parents Eleanor and Aloysius."

"How do you do?" said Severus, extending a hand roughened by years of tussling with sinewy plants. His own keen eyes examined the couple, his countenance the epitome of blank.

Eleanor shook his hand even as her eyes once more wandered off to peer at the old-fashioned room, eyebrows raised scarcely enough to show her distaste at the ancient looking furniture and outmoded décor. "Your brother and sister won't be coming for a week, they've got to work. But since you never visit, your father and I came early to spend time with you and get to know your fiancé before the wedding."

"I'd be delighted to show you the more interesting parts of England," offered Severus, looking as undelighted as it was possible to look from no expression whatsoever on his face.

Eleanor smiled thinly. "That would be lovely, very kind of you, Severus. Will you be joining us, Aline, or do you have more important things to do?"

Aloysius laid a hand on his wife's arm as he shot her an admonitory glance. "Dear, Aline has a lot on her mind, let's not be catty."

"Cat-catty?" sputtered Eleanor, appearing positively flabbergasted. "I merely asked a question."

"Of course I'm going along," Aline replied hurriedly, flushing. Two minutes here and already it had begun…sadly, that didn't even begin to approach the record. She'd hoped to be alone with her mother before fending off the barbs. She sent a silent 'thank you' to her father, who smiled warmly at his daughter. "Why don't you settle into your room, then I'll show you Hogwarts first. It's where I spend most of my time."

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She didn't have to do it, he'd have stayed for her sake despite her mother's passive- aggressive bitchy attitude. Severus apparated to Diagon Alley wearing an unusually deep frown. Aline had sent him away on the pretext of needing rare ingredients for a potion while she conducted a tour of the castle, only she couldn't fool her husband-to-be. Aside from the glaringly apparent fact that spotted dragon scales proved no more effective than plain—which she knew as well as he did—he understood all too well how it felt to have a hyper-critical parent. He was aware of the embarrassment of being called out in front of others, and he empathized with her at the same time that he envisioned hexing the older witch's mouth shut. At least with Snape's father there had been no game playing, it was straight out shouting and slapping, he knew where he stood; Aline had to pretend the woman was being nice while repeatedly sucking up little digs. Now he understood why Aline rarely spoke of her mother!

_"Yes, the castle is large and grand, but it's so cold. How can you stand to wear such revealing clothing?" Here Eleanor met Snape's smoldering orbs and she literally stepped backward into her husband._

_ "Mom, it's the same kind of robe Abby wears! It covers everything, and more than a lot of people's clothes," Aline defended herself, inspecting her long sleeved, scoop neck olive robe that swirled round her ankles._

Severus was poised to propose that if Aline felt chilly, he'd be more than happy to warm her up. No doubt Aline saw the gleam in his eye and had forthwith sent him on this ridiculous errand to avoid any potentially awkward squabbles.

Fine, he'd get what Aline asked for, and when he got back to Hogwarts Mrs. Conn had better watch her step or he might give her what she was asking for! The thought made him smile. In fact, it amused him so much he quite forgot to watch where he was going; he collided abruptly with a man leaving The Coffee Café, a new shop along the main strip, located beside a deep alley_._

"Hey, look sharp there!" groused Sirius, turning an annoyed grimace his way. Instantly the annoyance morphed to absolute sheer hatred.

"My apologies," Snape intoned blandly, not bothering to hide his own revulsion. Could this day get any worse? Of course it could, what the bloody hell was he thinking? He was Severus Snape and that twat in front of him was his arch nemesis! Best to walk away before the mutt had time to think up something his infantile mind would believe to be clever.

He'd got perhaps three paces away before a strong hand grasped his arm and whirled him around. By the time he'd completed the arc, his wand had popped into his hand from the sleek and convenient wrist holster Aline had bought for him. Seeing the wand leveled precariously close to his face, Sirius let go and backed off.

"Yeah, go right for the wand, just like always, Snivellus," he spat. "Why is my brother at your dump of a shack?"

Ah, Regulus had finally got around to informing Dog Boy of his new living arrangements! The expression Sirius projected could only be described as delicious to Snape. "I see your half-wittedness hasn't improved by being dead. Although lamentably related to you, Regulus evidently has a keener grasp on common sense than you have. He prefers my shack over your rat trap." Severus calmly tucked his wand back into its holster and started to turn away, his black robe billowing mightily in the breeze; he twisted his head back, a smirk playing on his lips. "If you had an inkling of a brain, that might tell you something. However, I won't hold my breath waiting for you to puzzle it out."

Sirius refused to back down. "You've always poked that unnaturally large nose into other people's business. You've been filling his head with your Death Eater ideas again, haven't you?"

"Ideas like moving away from _you_?" responded Severus drolly. "He didn't need my help to come to that conclusion."

"What did you say to get him to leave?" Sirius growled in a guttural tone, making him sound all the more like his animagus form.

Snape snorted involuntarily; Black was the poster child for unmitigated gall! "What do you think I did, mutt? Lure him away with promises of treats? For your information, Regulus came to me and asked if he could live at my house."

"You're a liar! I know you did something, you probably _Imperius_'d him—"

"How dare you," seethed Severus in a bare, hissed whisper that somehow carried over the bustle of the hordes on the street. His eyes narrowed to black slits of loathing. "It's not enough that Lucius and I must live with the knowledge that our actions dragged your sorry arse back through the Veil; you persist in acting the piss ant to the very last! Regulus is of age, he has the right to do as he pleases, and I can only applaud his wisdom in getting as far from _you_ as humanly possible!"

Time slowed to a crawl. In slow motion Sirius reached into his vest pocket for his wand; before it had fully cleared the material, a blast from Snape knocked him spinning into the alley beside the coffee shop. He landed on his rump and skidded to a stop. Wand clenched in his fist, he shot a stunning spell at Severus, who parried it and fired back a yellow blaze of light. His hex ricocheted off the brick wall when Sirius turned it aside, and Severus had to duck to avoid being hit by his own curse.

Sirius leaped to his feet. Back and forth the hexes went, tearing chunks from the walls and zigzagging dangerously out into the street. Suddenly Snape hurled four spells in succession, all of which Sirius managed to block except the last—an _expelliarmus_. His wand zipped out of his hand and flew to Severus, who could have crowed over the chance to break the blasted twig.

Instead he advanced on Sirius, wand never leaving the man. A lazy flick of his wrist sent Black slamming against the unforgiving wall with a thud and a grunt. Another flick hurtled the wizard across the alley to collide with the opposite wall where his head cracked resoundingly and opened a wide gash on his forehead. Twice more he bashed his enemy against the rough bricks before letting him fall to his knees.

Severus studied him impassively. Besides the gash, he'd inflicted a bloody nose and abrasions on one cheek, and surely Black's body must ache. Splendid, his work was done. He felt astonishingly more chipper than when he'd come to Diagon Alley. "Was it good for you, too?" he sneered.

Sirius looked up at him in a befuddled haze of pain that Severus took for surrender. Not surprising, he supposed, that Black would give up when he didn't have three simpering lackeys to back him up. All those years that Black had languished in prison, Severus had been continuing to hone his skills. He may not have been able to beat that psychopath Bella any better than Sirius had, but he could certainly take Black any day.

Severus sighed contentedly and tossed Sirius' wand onto the grimy cobblestones of the alley. "Ah, good times." He spun around and strolled off in search of spotted dragon scales.

Behind him, Sirius slumped to the ground, unconscious.

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"Good Master Regulus abandons poor Kreacher!" shrilled the scrawny, petite being. At the moment he was lying in his cabinet in a fetal position, clutching a ratty blanket in his arms and sobbing piteously. "Kreacher loves Good Master Regulus, Kreacher would cut off his own ears for Master Regulus and—" Huge shuddering sob. "—Master Regulus is _gone_!"

Harry knelt down beside the cabinet, forcibly holding open the door when Kreacher tried to close it. "He's not gone for good, he'll be back."

"No, Evil Master Sirius makes Good Master Regulus cross, he torments my Mistress' favorite," blubbered the elf, rubbing his snout-like nose on the blanket and sniffing loudly. "He chases the Good Master away and Kreacher must stay here with the evil traitor!" His voice rang in a shriek of despair.

"I'm here, too," Harry replied, feeling a bit left out and not quite sure why. He'd never wanted a house elf to begin with, yet the hideous little creature had grown on him.

Kreacher flopped clumsily over to gaze at Harry through bleary eyes the size of golf balls. "Oh, Master Harry Potter, Kreacher is the lowest speck of dirt, except for Evil Master Sirius, please forgive Kreacher! Does Master Harry Potter wants some food? A foot rub? A scrub in the tub?" The elf tossed aside his grubby blanket, swung his legs around, and started to get up.

"No, I'm good, thanks." Harry edged back to allow the creature to vacate the cabinet. "I talked to Regulus a little while ago, I told him how distraught you are. Reg says you can serve him at Spinner's End if you want, only you can't move things around—just clean up and bring him food."

For a minute Harry feared he'd given the elf a heart attack, for Kreacher sat dumbly staring at him before falling backward into his cabinet. He reached to take hold of the elf, who immediately squealed and sat up with the widest of smiles creasing his ugly visage, the streaks of tears still wet on his incredulous face.

"Kreacher gets to serve you _and_ Good Master Regulus? Even though Kreacher would love to leave Evil Master Sirius to rot in deer droppings, I will never leave wonderful Master Harry Potter! Kreacher is the luckiest elf in all the world: I get to serve _two_ households! Kreacher is the proudest, happiest elf in all the world!"

He scuttled past Harry and trotted into the kitchen, followed by the noise of clanking pots and pans and a jubilant, high-pitched, tuneless hum.

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"Come on, let me have a taste." Blaise nudged the girl with his shoulder, smiling and wiggling his eyebrows at her.

"No, you had your chance, go away," laughed Daphne. Spinning away, holding her ice cream out of his reach, she deliberately swirled her tongue around the big scoop of chocolate, made a show of savoring the cold delicacy, and smacked her lips for his benefit. "Mmm, chocolate."

Blaise sniffed and turned up his nose. "I prefer strawberry."

"Then it works out perfectly. Oh, no!" A blob of brown goo dripped onto her robe, rolled down her chest, and plopped on the ground. "That's going to stain even if I _scourgify_ it."

"Serves you right," crowed her friend. It truly did lift his spirits, even though he hadn't been that bent on the treat anyhow. "You can stop moaning, it's not that big a deal."

"I'm not moaning," Daphne protested, smacking him in the side with the back of her hand. She tossed her long brown hair back and slurped more ice cream.

"Then what…" Zabini stopped in his tracks and grabbed her wrist to make her halt as well.

"What?"

"Shh!" Together they stood, heads cocked, listening for something neither of them could describe if asked. A faint groan emanated from nearby. "Did you hear it?"

Wide eyed, Daphne nodded. "It sounds like it came from that alley we just passed." The look she shot Blaise was a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. Ever so slowly she started to back up in tiny mincing steps with Blaise matching her every move.

They peered into the dim space where they could make out a man lying on the pavement. His legs twitched, he emitted a shaky grunt, and gradually slipped his arms under himself and struggled into a propped position. The two young people stared in fascinated horror before at last breaking free of their stupor and cautiously approaching the man, Daphne clinging to Blaise's arm with a grip of steel that made his arm go numb.

"Your fingernails are drawing blood," he hissed, shaking her off to massage his injured limb. "Hey! Are you alright there?"

Sirius cranked his head in their direction, but his eyes could make out only two shadowy figures illuminated by the light behind them. "Who are you?"

"I'm Daphne. Are you hurt?" She lit the tip of her wand and held it out, recoiling at the blood on his face…that familiar yet unfamiliar face. All at once recognition struck and she swatted Zabini again. "Blaise, that's Sirius Black!"

Blaise crowded in closer, squinting at the wizard. "It is, innit? Black, can you get up? What happened?"

Sirius blinked several times. He should know this, shouldn't he? It was a quiz, he hated pop quizzes! "My head hurts, I can't think," he mumbled.

Blaise waved Daphne back. "I'll stay here in case whoever did this comes back. You go to St. Mungo's, have them send someone to pick up Black. I don't want to move him in case he's bad off."

"Yeah, alright," Daphne agreed quietly. From Draco she'd heard loads of nasty things about Sirius Black when he'd escaped from Azkaban, and later when they were dating, so why did it bother her to see the Gryffindork like this? He probably deserved it. Still, he was a human being, albeit barely. She got up and apparated out to obtain help.

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Normally it would annoy Lucius to have someone in his study watching him work. Nothing except full concentration would do with the subtleties necessary in negotiating contracts, in developing strategies for acquiring assets. Well, full concentration would have to wait, Narcissa had just hiked up her skirt and wormed her way onto his lap—not that he'd exactly put up a fight…or a word of dissension.

Narcissa nibbled at the croissant from the fine white china on Lucius' desk, then took a sip of his tea. "It's cold," she observed with a kiss on the tip of his nose.

"Would you like me to warm it—or something else," crooned Lucius in her ear. His hand snaked up her leg.

"Lucius," she answered in an agitated tone, her hand slapping a staccato beat on his back. "Look!"

The wizard twisted around to where she was pointing, right at the window where an enormous eagle sat perched on the ledge staring at them like a peeping Tom. It blinked and cocked its head when they turned its way, then bent in to peck noisily at the glass pane.

Lucius eased his wife off his lap, strode over to the window, and threw it open. The eagle darted inside with the agility of a canary, circled the room thrice with nary a beat of its wings, and landed on Malfoy's desk where it commenced to a nauseating demonstration of hacking and coughing.

"Gracious, do you think it's ill?" Narcissa pondered aloud from the safe arms of her husband. She did so hate to see an animal suffer, even if that animal had currently taken over Lucius' study.

"I doubt it. From what I've heard of messenger eagles, he's—"

Another prolonged series of gags, this time productive. The bird coughed once more, ducked its head, and regurgitated a grey metal tube the size of Narcissa's baby finger. The object clanked onto the desk coated in strings of mucous and vomit.

"—he's doing _that_," Lucius finished dryly.

"I'm not touching it," declared Narcissa, crossing her arms and turning up her nose. "How vile."

A wave of Lucius' wand cleaned the area. He picked up the cylinder, unclamped the top, tipped out a rolled parchment, and read it to himself, pinching his lips together. "It's a _charming_ RSVP from Dimitar Tanassov of Durmstrang. He and Miss Luna Lovegood will be attending."

Narcissa smiled in spite of herself. "Severus and Bayly will be happy to hear that."

Having delivered its message, the eagle glanced back and forth between the humans, neither of whom seemed inclined to pen a response or feed it a tube to carry back to its master. Just as well. It snapped up the remainder of the croissant, tilted its head back, and swallowed it whole, then dipped its beak into the tea. It paused at the unaccustomed flavor, did with its wings what looked remarkably like a shrug, and gulped it down. With that it screamed a deafening farewell caw and bolted out the window.

"Interesting pet," Lucius remarked, gazing wistfully after it.

"Not in this lifetime, Malfoy," Narcissa answered, shaking her head. What was it with men? Dragons and eagles and hippogriffs—whatever happened to the concept of a simple cat or a dog?


	78. The times, they are a changing

Death Eater No More—Chapter Seventy-Eight (The times, they are a-changing)

Word travels fast in the wizarding world. Thus it was hardly surprising that Severus should hear that Sirius Black had been viciously attacked in an alley and taken to the hospital. Not to say he wasn't more than a bit taken aback by the situation in general—he'd only beat the jerk against a brick wall a few times, it wasn't as if he'd caved in Black's skull with a baseball bat….though the idea had its merits.

_No_! Snape shook his head roughly. No time to fantasize. He'd told Aline about the altercation with Black when he'd returned with the spotted dragon scales. Now he kissed her and took his leave with a brief explanation of where he was going. He surmised it in his best interest to confront Black and/or the press immediately before things got blown further out of proportion.

Sirius was asleep when Severus peered around the door frame to Sirius' room at St. Mungo's. Regulus was there…and Potter. Goody. He inhaled deeply through his nose and strode into the room; so much for stealing in inconspicuously. "So…how is Black doing?" The concern he'd hoped to project sounded vaguely insincere to his own ears.

Regulus and Harry turned as one to gawp at Severus. Why was he here? And why did he care how Sirius was? It was common knowledge he hated Black with an almost pathological loathing, and that Sirius reciprocated the sentiment. Nevertheless, if he'd come to gloat at a time like this, it really demonstrated poor form.

"Um—he's okay now," Harry answered, squinting in bewilderment. "He had a concussion, but the doctor said he'll be fine. May I ask why you care?"

"I'm more interested in who did this," Regulus interjected as he pointed at his listless brother.

Snape's eyes flicked rapidly over Sirius' visage. Despite the probably unnecessary band of cloth encircling his head, the abrasions and contusions had all but disappeared thanks to the skilled handiwork of the hospital staff, and Black appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Severus looked Regulus full in the face and said calmly, "That would be me."

"You?" squeaked Regulus. His face registered shock and betrayal. "Sev, he's my brother! Why would you try to kill him?"

Barely stifling a derisive snort, Severus drawled, "First of all, if I had _tried_ to kill him, he'd be dead. Second, I was not aware I'd done any more than smack him around, which he unequivocally deserved."

"Why?" interrupted Harry, making his way from the side of the bed to circle round the footboard. "Just because you hate him?" He wisely refrained from any attempt at attack—he'd beat Voldemort because it was meant to be, but it would be a mighty frosty day in hell before he challenged Snape to a duel.

"Because he drew his wand on me," retorted Severus. Honestly, why was everything always _his_ fault? "We fought, I won. When I left him, he was conscious."

"What were you fighting about?" asked Regulus, who had not moved an inch from the spot where he stood next to Sirius' bedside.

Only a moment's pause while Snape considered the question, yet it seemed to last interminably. He didn't want to lie to his friend, nor did he wish to make the lad feel somehow responsible for what his idiot brother did. Ever since they were boys in school, and probably earlier, Sirius had tried to run his brother's life. Regulus was an adult, he had every right to live where and how he decided without Sirius giving him grief at every turn.

At last Severus said evasively, "An extension of an old argument. I can only hope it has finally been settled."

"Hnnn," came a soft moan from the bed. All three heads swiveled to stare at Sirius, whose eyelids fluttered briefly before opening halfway against the harsh light of the room. He caught sight of his sibling and smiled genially. "Hey, Reg." On the other side where Harry had hurried to he grinned again. "Harry." His eyes roved toward the middle of the room and stopped cold; the men could almost watch his mind spinning. "_Snape_? I thought I heard you…I assumed it was a nightmare."

Regulus had already bent down to pat the older wizard's shoulder as his gaze bounced anxiously from Sirius to Severus to Harry. "Yeah, it's Severus. You're at St. Mungo's, you got a concussion."

"He came by to see how you're _feeling_," Harry interjected with a sullen glance at Snape.

"Yes, Black, do tell," Severus picked it up. If they had to have this out, there probably wasn't going to be a better time—when the two closest to Black could act as witnesses. "How are you feeling? Like murdering me, I suppose."

Sirius opened his mouth, then closed it again like a fish gulping water. His brows dipped in confusion. "No, not really." He turned a semi-conspiratorial whisper to Harry, but in the quiet room he may as well have shouted. "Why don't I feel like killing him? Did the doctors give me some kind of potion?"

"I don't think so," said Harry, growing as confused as his godfather. "They said you were resting on your own."

"Huh," answered Black, sounding remarkably like Regulus. His eyes returned to rest on Snape, who shook his hair back defiantly from his face and fixed Sirius with a resolute blank stare. At last he said, "You got me pretty good there, Snape. I figured to wipe the floor with you, and you kicked my arse. That bashing me against the wall—worthy of a Marauder. And I don't say that to just anybody…especially you."

If possible, the still room had grown even quieter. The bare rustle of the sheet against the man's toes clamored like cymbals. Obviously something was drastically wrong, Sirius Black simply did not compliment Severus Snape, it was against the natural order of the universe. If this kept up, who knew what the ramifications might be?

"Sirius, are you sure you're alright?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"Actually, I feel pretty good, just a little headache," Sirius replied in earnest, kneading the bandage wrapped around his head. He grew thoughtful before adding, "I feel…._different_. Ever since I woke up at Malfoy's place, I've had this relentless, unfocused anger. It's gone now, I don't know why."

"So your acerbic personality before you died was jolly good humour?" Severus intoned dispassionately.

Sirius looked up at Severus and smirked. "Harry has told me all about your role in the war. I didn't want to believe him about you not being a total asswipe, only I don't guess he'd lie to me about it."

"This coming from _you_," Snape snapped back. Merlin's ghost, Snape never pretended to be a saint, but Black had to be the king of Asswipe-onia!

"It's time to let bygones be bygones, right?" Sirius shrugged, that goofy grin getting under Snape's skin. "Not to say we're best mates or anything, but I don't anticipate starting another fight in the near future."

"Be still, my heart," drawled Severus, rolling his eyes. Did Black imagine in that pile of insane mush that he called a brain that Snape was quaking in his boots over the prospect of another confrontation? He couldn't resist a sneering smirk of his own. "I stand corrected. Apparently it _is_ possible to knock some sense into your head."

Sirius ignored the remark. "Reg, if you're happy living where you are, I'm not gonna harass you over it. I want you to be happy."

Regulus' legs buckled and he collapsed onto the bed, dark eyes wide and frightened, face as pale as the bleached bedclothes. First he was quasi-nice to Severus, and now _this_! He wailed, "Oh, my God! You're not dying, are you?"

"No!" Sirius laughed out loud and curled an arm around his brother's neck, drawing him closer. "For the first time that I can remember in many years, I feel alive."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

If Bella's vault had been a hallmark of disorder, the scene in Dolph's flat had to be absolute chaos mixed with a dash of anarchy. As per his instructions, house elf Nels had brought every scrap from the vault and deposited it in heaping mounds on the floor of the small apartment, taking up every inch of available space in the living room and spilling over onto the furniture and kitchenette counter, effectively burying them. He'd then blithely returned home with the Lestrange ring to stash it with the rest of Varden's things in the cellar.

When Dolph and Rab came home they found it necessary to use their wands to create enough leverage to open the door and squeeze through with Marshal and Lucius right behind them. The door slammed of its own accord when a suit of armor tumbled from its perch on a pile of treasure and crashed noisily into the wood. All four men merely gaped at the monumental task ahead. Sorting through this jumble was going to take far more time than any of them had allotted.

Since no one else was going to say it, Marshal took it upon himself. "Geez, Dolph, I knew Bella was a pack rat, but this is ridiculous."

Dolph twisted his neck to better glare at his comrade. "I thought I warned you about Bella-bashing."

"I'm _not_, it's just—"

A faint mewling sound was followed by the appearance of a tiny kitten with tufted orange fur picking its way overtop one of the stacks. It halted at the pinnacle of a pile roughly the height of the men, then started down the other side. A mass of hundreds of galleons broke loose and clanked down the mountain, bringing the yowling kitten hurtling down with it. Rabby snatched it up before it hit bottom and clutched the animal to his chest with one hand.

"Since when do we have a cat?" asked Wendolph.

The kitten curled into an orange ball of fur against Rabby's chest and began to purr. "I found her at the park this morning when I was walking. She was all alone—and her foot was hurt."

"Since when do we have a cat?" repeated Dolph with exactly the same inflection.

"Since I healed her paw and brought her home," Rabby answered defensively, daring his brother to object. The creature stretched out to bring her ears up under his chin; Rabby scratched her head and stroked her lovingly, making her purr like a revving engine. He looked down at the kitten with such tenderness it seemed he might start purring himself.

Dolph shrugged, though he would have liked a photo of that scene. The times had been few and far between when Rabby looked truly content. "Fine with me as long as _you_ take care of her. And if she gets pregnant, what are you going to do with the babies? We're not running a cat mill."

"She's too young to get pregnant," scoffed his brother. By his admittedly not expert estimation, she was no older than six weeks. "I'll take her to the veterinarian and have her checked over and fixed. Happy?"

"Deliriously so. Come on, let's tackle this mess before Marshal makes a bigger mess of it." So saying, he gave Marshal a shove away from the knee high pile of jewels he was sifting through.

"I wasn't gonna keep 'em," Marshal muttered. His irritation was forgotten in an instant when he glimpsed the long handle of a rusted halberd poking out of the stack. Pulling fervently, he freed the axe-like object with its spiked top as numerous jewels and coins skittered around him; he sighed as he traced the blade's edge with his finger. "Nice."

"You can have it," Dolph said with a gesture at the rest of the room. "As I recall, it was one of a pair. You can have both."

"Thanks, mate!" exclaimed Marshal excitedly. He began tossing aside multitudes of golden goblets, jeweled cups, silver armor, goblin-made helmets, shields.

"A little order would be nice," complained Jorab. "Shouldn't we be sorting this stuff into piles of similar items? Then we can decide what to keep and what to sell in Knockturn Alley, and maybe in some Muggle locations as well."

"Or what to throw away," Lucius said. He wrinkled his nose as he held up the skin of a creature with drooping wings. "I may be mistaken, but I doubt you gentlemen have a use for this."

"Maybe we ought to set aside things like that for Snape," Rab proposed. Using his wand he hurled it across the room to the only nearly empty corner. "He may be able to use parts of them."

Dolph nodded and fished another skin with long spines out of a pile and sent it into the same corner. "There are potions in here somewhere, I hope that elf didn't put them at the bottom where the flasks might break. We can have Snape look at those, too. I have no idea what's in them."

"How about these?" Marshal held up a knot of heavy chains.

"A little light bondage?" snickered Lucius under his breath.

"Keep them, I don't want them," said Dolph. Marshal gleefully crammed them against the wall farthest from the bulk of treasure.

Lucius picked up a human skull whose teeth were capped in gold; on its head it wore a jeweled crown. Obviously one of Bella's sick trophies. He pitched the crown into the pile of jewels and extracted the gold from the teeth using his wand. "I suggest getting rid of this at the first opportunity. Regardless of the circumstances, it never looks good to have a human head in your flat."

"Oh, look at this!" Dolph crowed. He held up a heavy flail—two spiked steel balls attached by ten inch chains to a solid wooden shaft. He raised it and spun it round his head a few times, making all three of the others duck instinctively. "Rab, remember this? I got it from that old couple we terrorized in Yorkshire when we were looking for Potter. This goes in my room."

Rabastan's eyes flitted to his brother and he flushed with shame. They hadn't harmed the old folks, though they had given them a good scare, tearing up their house in search of who knew what. Looking back, he couldn't find a reason for them to even be there at all, except Travers was in charge and had led them there. The sole purpose had been to intimidate and frighten them and, by extension, all those around them. He'd prefer not to remember, if it was all the same to Dolph.

"Hey!" Lucius barked indignantly. Out of a mound of galleons he pulled a sixteenth century crossbow with a broken strong and wood starting to decompose. "This is mine! Well, my father's, and therefore mine."

"How do I know it's yours? I don't see your name on it," Dolph teased, eyes twinkling.

Lucius would have stomped across the room to make his point. The stacks of treasure barring that, he crawled around the pile to stalk over to his friend, turned the weapon over, and rammed it up into Dolph's face. The latter had to step back in order to focus. On the hand grip, carved in plain, small block letters, was the single word: _Malfoy_. Lucius' pinched face defied the other wizard to argue with that.

"Oh. My mistake," Dolph said, shrugging again. "I always thought it was Bella's, she's the one who put it in the vault."

"Big surprise there," growled Lucius as he remembered the day it had gone missing. He'd been a boy of sixteen, not long after he'd taken Bella to get the Dark Mark. The witch had taunted him into practicing with the crossbow without his father's permission, and as luck would have it the string broke. Try as he might, he'd been unable to mend it magically; Lucius had panicked and hid it in the bushes, planning to retrieve it later and send it for repairs. When he returned to search for the weapon, it was gone. Bella swore up and down that she hadn't taken it, though in retrospect he ought to have recognized the laughter in those haughty eyes. His father, of course, had eventually noticed the missing object and had caned his son soundly. Oh, how he hated Bella with a passion that didn't quit! He set the crossbow aside to dig through more treasures.

With his kitten snugly tucked into a pocket of his robe, Rabby was busy compiling two neat stacks of coins—as neat as they could be with no real support underneath. It would be easiest to give Nott and Regulus solely galleons, or maybe a few jewels along with the money. Dolph had promised he'd do it…the only question was how much to give them? The sale of most of the items here would fetch millions of galleons if they could find the right interested buyers, especially for the jewels, the many suits of armor, and the hordes of goblets. The jewels on some of the goblets alone were worth a fortune. Surely Lucius would be a great help in locating discreet buyers. Come to think of it, his real estate attorney would be helpful in finding them a bigger place in the area where they wouldn't be cramped.

Rabby cocked his head to think. A hundred thousand galleons apiece for Nott and Regulus sounded fair, and would be enough for them to live on for many years to come. Perhaps he ought to find sacks to put it in… His eyes fell on a pentagonal marble case roughly the size of his fist protruding from the mound of gold coins. He picked it up and turned it round in his hands looking for a clasp or latch and found none. The strange writing carved in an arc on the front he didn't understand.

"Dolph, what's this?"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

When Daphne entered Sirius' hospital room, he was sitting up in bed using his wand to float the bedpan in swirls around the room. He dropped it with an embarrassed crash upon noticing her. "Well, hello there. I—uh—really bored. I remember you…Daphne, right?"

"Hi. Yeah, I found you in that alley." She moved in to stand at the foot of his bed, fidgeting ever so slightly. It wasn't every day she visited notorious personages. "I can only stay a few minutes, my mother is expecting me. You're looking much better, I must say."

"I feel a thousand times better. Tomorrow they're letting me out, but I'm stuck here for tonight." Sirius set his wand on the nightstand and beckoned the girl forward. He held out a hand for her to shake and she took it. "Thanks for helping me out."

"You're welcome." Daphne cleared her throat as she looked hastily away. She didn't recall Black being so attractive in the photos she'd seen when he escaped from Azkaban—in fairness, he had been practically emaciated and wore a hateful, hunted expression. And he was older than now.

"You're Slytherin." It wasn't a question. Sirius was studying the snake brooch she wore on the lapel of her blue satin robe. "I wouldn't have thought it of you."

"What about it?" she challenged, lifting her chin and pulling her hand from his grasp. Just like a Gryffindork to go for the throat without provocation; at least a Slytherin waited for a reason!

Sirius held up his hands in mock surrender. "Nothing. I just haven't known too many nice Slytherins before." Most of those he knew would leave him in a ditch to die an agonizing, slow death—assuming they hadn't put him there to begin with.

The witch's gaze appraised him, her arms crossed over her chest. Coolly she responded, "Aside from your family, how many Slytherins have you ever really bothered to get to know?"

"Touche," he grinned back at her. He found himself musing that he wouldn't mind getting to know her, or running his hands through that mane of dark hair—no, no, he shouldn't be thinking this way! But dammit, she was cute! "So…are you still in school?" It seemed of paramount importance that the answer be 'no', and for the life of him Sirius didn't know why. He'd always had girls coming on to him, and he wasn't interested, as a rule. Why was she different? Because she _wasn't_ propositioning him?

"No, I'm nineteen." Before she could stop herself she blurted, "How old are you?"

Sirius heaved a great sigh and shrugged. "I don't rightly know. Chronologically I'm thirty-nine, yet when I died my body got younger. I think I'm about twenty-five. Is that a good age for you?"

"Excuse me?"

The dyke was ruptured, may as well go for it. "For the men you date—is that a good age?" Belatedly Sirius realized the witch probably already had a beau, and he could have kicked himself. That has always been a problem with him, running at the mouth before thinking! And yet, he didn't have much choice. She was in a hurry, if he didn't act now he may never get another chance.

To his astonishment, Daphne had not laughed in his face or spit on him as he'd expect from a Slytherin. In fact, she _blushed_, which made her all the more comely in his sight. "Are you asking me on a date?"

"Assuming you're not married, engaged, or otherwise attached to a wizard who'd ambush me with the intent to kill, yes," Sirius declared plainly. At the moment he felt like a dufus dressed in his silly hospital gown, certain she must think him mad at best, and a lecherous 'old bloke' at worst.

"I'd like that," Daphne replied softly, smiling down on him. "Is tomorrow evening too soon? You probably need to rest."

"Tomorrow is perfect," Sirius countered. "Oh, I forgot to ask—what is your last name?"

"Greengrass. I'll send an owl with my address and you can pick me up tomorrow about six." Daphne inclined her head in a light, self-confident nod, whirled on her heel, and almost floated out of the room. When she got into the hall her legs began to wobble erratically and she clutched the wall to steady herself. What had she gotten herself into? How on Earth could she have accepted a date with Sirius Black?? Good looks aside, he was everything she'd always hated! If her friends didn't lambaste her for this, her parents undoubtedly would!

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Aloysius Conn would love to say he was enjoying his time in Britain. That's what he'd _like_ to say. Hogwarts had been magnificent, he'd thoroughly delighted in the trip, and he was ever so glad to see his little girl again…well, his grown up, almost-married daughter. The thorn in his side was Eleanor. She'd been determined not to like Severus before they ever arrived on the island, and she'd ratcheted up her snideness to Level One Bitchy, most of which was landing squarely on Aline. It angered and upset him.

From experience he knew it would be futile to admonish his wife on her actions, she'd only give him an innocent, affronted look while claiming he was being overly critical of her. _Overly critical._ If anyone knew the meaning of that, it was Eleanor. He'd laugh at the irony of it, except it wasn't funny. She truly could not see herself as others saw her. The witch had the ability to be so sweet and kind, and she generally was to everyone outside the family. Oh, she dearly loved her family, Aloysius didn't doubt that for a moment—so why was it that her venomous tongue lashed out at them most often?

Aloysius stared unseeing into the fire as he slouched in an armchair. As warm as it felt outside, indoors it was cold thanks to thick plastered walls. The women were upstairs, ostensibly chatting about the wedding; he'd tried to dissuade Aline from going, he'd suggested staying with him, but she'd smiled and set her jaw like a good little soldier and followed her mother up the stairs. He only wanted to protect his baby, even if only from the barbs of her mother.

He was startled form his depressed musings by the rush of the floo. A young witch strolled into the room holding hands with a young dark haired wizard, both of them smiling like they had a secret between them.

"Hello," said the witch, approaching the man who had stood up to greet her. "I'm Jacinta, Severus' daughter. This is Theodore Nott."

"I'm Aloysius Conn." He shook hands with them both. He had heard of Jacinta, had expected her to more closely resemble Severus, though on near inspection there existed a definite similarity in the nose and eye shape. "It's wonderful to meet you, Jacinta. You, too, Theodore. Your father isn't here right now, he had to go to the hospital to see somebody, I think Aline said."

"Oh." That took the wind from her sails. She'd hoped to surprise Papa, and he wasn't even here! "I'm sorry to bother you."

"It's no bother, young lady," smiled Aloysius, seating himself and motioning for the kids to do the same. "You're practically my granddaughter. Come sit down, let me get to know you."

"I'd like that, too," answered the girl, pleasantly surprised. She pulled a long string of antique pearls from her pocket. "I've brought this necklace Aline wanted to borrow for the wedding—it's my mum's. It's something _old_ and _borrowed_," she grinned, referring to the practice of _'Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.'_

"Aline is upstairs with her mother. I can call them."

"I'll go get them," Theo offered, jumping to his feet. "'Cinta, you stay and talk with your granddad." He winked at her before walking off. Hearing the two of them laughing in the distance did his heart good.

Out of habit Theo crept up the stairs keeping the thumps and bumps to a minimum. How many times he'd listened to his mother scold the younger boys and Missy for storming about like elephants in the wild! Not that it did much good, they still acted like barbarians. Nonetheless, as he'd heard a bazillion times, he was the oldest, he ought to set an example.

When he reached the landing at the top he paused. Which direction to go? The voices coming from the left told him all he needed to know, and he started down the hall only to halt in his tracks at an unfamiliar, condescending voice.

"I didn't say there's anything wrong with Severus. I barely know the man—and that's my point! You've known him only a year, a good portion of which you admit you despised him. How can you say you love him now?"

Evidently Aline's mum…she didn't sound very approachable. Theo was tempted to turn back when Aline's response cut into his thoughts.

"I got to know who he is on the inside. He's brave, he's capable of extreme gentleness while being emotionally strong, he's super intelligent, and good at dueling, and—"

"_Dueling_. Leave it to you to think _that_ should be a consideration for marriage. You've always been such a tomboy it's no wonder you didn't find a husband earlier."

Theo squirmed in his shoes as if he were the one being raked over the coals. He knew he shouldn't be eavesdropping, he simply couldn't make himself move. And that line seemed blatantly unfair, he'd never noticed anything tomboyish about Aline. Across the space he felt her embarrassment, he even felt her jaw clench.

"I didn't find a husband because—you know, I don't have to explain it to you."

"Severus has killed men, I read all about it." Challenging tone.

Exasperated rebuttal. "Then you'd know Dumbledore was dying and asked him to do it, and Dolohov was set to murder his own son! What has this got to do with anything?"

Theo found himself edging to hug the wall. It wouldn't hide him if they came out of the room, but he felt a smidgen less conspicuous.

More patronizing on the part of her mum. "I love you, I'm just saying you haven't thought this through. You tend to rush into things, like you did in moving to England."

"Hogwarts is in Scotland." Did Theo detect a hint of sarcastic glee in there?

"Smart mouth. Aline, I'm only suggesting you wait until you're sure."

"I _am_ sure. Don't you mean until _you're_ sure, or until _you_ approve? That could be never! You never like anybody I like, you hate everything about me!"

"Don't play the martyr, dear, it's not attractive."

There was the sound of moving about, and Theo flattened himself as much as he could against the wall, his heart in his mouth. That was all he needed, to get caught spying on them! Mrs. Conn would likely tear his tongue out.

"Is this what you did with Abby or Lonny when they got married? Or is it only for me?" The bitterness shone through strongly.

"You are supposed to heed your mother's advice. Severus is not the type of wizard I'd choose."

"Then it's a good thing you're not the one marrying him!"

_Come on, Theo, stop the madness! Do what you came for._ The heat in the room was escalating, and the young man feared the women would soon be at each other's throats—literally. Theo pushed himself from the wall and called out, "Aline? Mrs. Conn? It's Theo Nott. Jacinta is downstairs, she wants to see you." The voices in the room ahead had stilled.

He really wasn't anxious to meet Mrs. Conn up here, not after hearing all that. Before either of the witches had a chance to answer, he turned and bounded down the stairs, forgetting all about zoo animals and setting examples.


	79. Standing on Ceremony

Death Eater No More—Chapter Seventy-Nine (Standing on Ceremony )

(**A/N:** Three people have told me that in the last few chapters they tried to send reviews that didn't go through. If this has happened to you, please let me know so I can report it to FFN. And thanks again to all of you who do review! It does wonders for my morale.)

Rabby turned the pentagonal marble artifact over in his hands looking for a way to open it. He found none, nor did he comprehend the peculiar writing in an arc across the front of the object. Holding it aloft he asked, "Dolph, what's this?"

Wendolph lazily turned his head to see and his face instantly changed to unmasked apprehension. In a hoarse shriek he ordered, "Don't open that!"

So startled at the unexpected bellow that he nearly dropped the object, Rabby fumbled and caught it before it hit the floor. "Why?"

Already his brother was wending his way over. He gingerly plucked the marble item from the younger man and gazed down at it with a hint of loathing. "I don't know what it is, all I know is Bella was afraid of it—and she wasn't afraid of much. It's been in her family for centuries and is accursed."

"If it's cursed, how come the curse breaker at Gringotts didn't un-curse it when he did the vault?" asked Marshal.

"Not cursed, moron, _accursed_—as in detestable," snapped Dolph. "It's very dangerous."

"Then why not get rid of it?" persisted Marshal.

Here Lucius, who'd been listening with interest, broke in. "Because if something so dangerous fell into the hands of someone who knew how to use it, the results could be disastrous."

"Thank you, Lucius," said Dolph.

"My pleasure." By now he'd fought his way across the room to get a good look at the subject of the discussion. One finger caressed the silky smooth white pentagon, traced over the ancient lettering. "My guess is it's an amulet or talisman of some kind. The writing looks like Sanskrit."

"What does it say?" inquired Rab.

Lucius offered a withering expression, cocking one eyebrow. "Do I look like I read Sanskrit? I recognize it from pictures of tablets in books in my father's library."

Dolph held the talisman out to Malfoy as he said, "Why don't you take it and show it to Narcissa, maybe she knows what it's for."

With a casual nod of his head Lucius accepted the article. "Barring that, I can ask Dimitar Tanassov when he comes for the wedding. I understand he's quite knowledgeable about such things."

"Speaking of knowledgeable, whose skull is that?" asked Marshal. He gave it a poke with his halberd.

"What has knowledgeable got to do with that?" said Rabby in a voice Dolph barely heard, it sounded faint to his ears. He was lost in a memory he'd not thought of in a very long time.

_Rodolphus crouched in the filthy, stench-filled alley of the large city Bella had insisted on bringing him to for their latest Muggle hunt. He was really only there for reinforcements, which detracted considerably from the charm of the hunt, but it was time he got to spend with Bella, walking the streets, scouting the best target locations. He didn't get a lot of that, what with Lord Voldemort keeping her at his side. At any rate, Bella had chosen the city for the ample opportunity it afforded her to exercise her base desires without drawing undue attention. A body here or there in the inner city scarcely raised an eyebrow._

_ Lord Voldemort had already complained that the witch's indiscriminate murders of local Muggles was making the populace antsy—hence his decision to move his headquarters from the plum Florida location to that dump of a Scottish castle. Bella had asked Roddy for one more hunt before they left the area, which explained why her husband was currently skulking in a dank alley like a two-bit bum._

_ Rodolphus watched his wife sauntering carelessly down the street they'd selected, her hips swaying provocatively in that tight black miniskirt, her too-high heels clicking a staccato beat to attract the prey. As usual she'd been right, she had a wonderful instinct for this sort of thing; it wasn't long before three thuggish young men in baggy jeans and oversized shirts rounded the corner and their dark eyes lit up with a sadistic glee so similar to Bella's it made Rodolphus flinch._

_ The men advanced on the haughty witch grinning and exchanging a bizarre slang dialect that Rodolphus couldn't fathom. For her part, Bellatrix straightened and shook her black mane back from her face, her heavy lidded eyes sizing them up. The corners of her red painted lips turned up._

_ "Out for a stroll, boys?" she purred in her British accent that apparently surprised and delighted the three._

_ "Hey, bitch, where you from?" grunted one of them curiously. He continued his cruel smile, his gold teeth gleaming in the sunlight._

_ "I'm not from around here…I'm lost," Bella cooed as her mouth settled into a pout. From his position Rodolphus noted she'd set her feet apart in preparation for battle._

_ The goons looked at each other then back at her; a vile understanding passed between them in that glance. One of them said, "How 'bout we show you a good time wif all of us, den if you can still walk maybe we show you out."_

_ Bella made a show of pondering that for a moment. Slowly, enjoying the eyes glued to her, she drew her wand from her cleavage and held it at ready. She shook her head as she said, "I don't like that idea. How about I kill you all and take your heads as souvenirs?"_

_ For several seconds no one spoke. The thugs looked at each other again in confusion, sure they'd misheard or misinterpreted the helpless foreigner's words. If she thought to protect herself with that tiny stick of wood, she had a rude awakening coming. Just as they turned their sight back to her, she struck. Her wand flashed sideways with a silent spell, though the dark blue blaze of light did its job, slicing neatly through one young man's neck. His severed head pitched onto the pavement in front of him, bounced, and rolled to a clumsy stop, eyes wide and staring. His body teetered and dropped like a log immediately after._

_ Coming to their horrified senses, the other two turned tail to run. Bella cut them down before they'd gone a dozen paces. When Rodolphus came out of the alley to congratulate his wife on a job well done, she merely sulked, "They didn't even put up a fight!"_

_ "Come on, the police will be coming soon," Rodolphus urged her. He took her arm only to have her shake him off._

_ "I said I wanted a souvenir," she insisted. One quick motion of her wand brought the head flying into her hand where she gripped it by the hair. "Something to remember America."_

"It's just some Muggle Bella killed years ago," Dolph finally answered nonchalantly. "She thought it was funny to put that crown on his head."

"She would think so, demented twat," murmured Lucius dryly, barely loud enough for Dolph to hear. Before the man had a chance to defend his wife, Lucius continued, "Oh, look—peacock feathers…are those from _my_ peacocks?"

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They were nearly married, Severus saw no harm in flooing to Aline's quarters unannounced. Soon enough they'd be living together in the Headmaster's quarters, though he ruefully noted she'd have to maintain her office in the dungeons for the benefit of the tender young snakes under her care. He almost laughed aloud; since when did he think of those voracious, self-serving, irritating bratlings as 'tender'? Only since Aline's precious love had made the rest fade into insignificance.

He stepped into his fireplace and walked out of Aline's. The room was cold and empty, the flames long dead under his feet, which he thought curious. "Aline, are you here?"

The faint snuffling noise he'd been hearing stopped, followed by the sound of bedsprings creaking mightily. "Just a minute," she called through the closed door.

When she threw open the door, Severus didn't need his skill as a Legilimens to assess the problem. Despite the fact that Aline had wiped her face and put on an obviously fake smile, he detected the red, swollen eyes indicative of crying. His heart leapt in his chest to think she may be weeping because of him.

He approached her with a hand outstretched and swept her in close. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"I can't—take this," Aline mumbled against his chest, trying unsuccessfully to stifle the sobs. Her voice rose in pitch and hysteria as she went on, "She's going to—ruin it! I know she is!"

No doubt existed as to who 'she' might be. Had there been even an inkling of uncertainty, it had been dispelled only a short time ago by the owl sent from a concerned Theodore Nott, in which he detailed a conversation he had quite accidentally overheard, if one were to believe everything one read. Mrs. Conn evidently was on the warpath again—if indeed she ever settled down—and had set her sights on Snape. The witch had no clue what she was dealing with.

"Your mother isn't going to ruin anything, I promise you that." Severus folded his arms more tightly around her as she clung to him like a lost waif.

"She might—object to the marriage—during the ceremony," Aline choked out.

"Let her object. She can't prevent us being wed," Severus replied in a smooth, confident tone. Any opposition on Eleanor's part lacked a basis in reason to halt the ceremony, though Snape conceded inwardly that it could cause embarrassment to his bride on her special day. He could always hex Mrs. Conn into silence, but her husband and children probably would take issue with that course of action. He lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, "I know of a perfect solution."

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"No, I've never seen it," Narcissa said, her lips set in a slight pout. Why did Bella get everything in Father's vault just because she was the eldest? That would not be the case with _her_ children, that was for sure! "What is it?"

"I don't know, love. We were hoping you could enlighten us." Lucius turned to the portraits over the fireplace. "Can you interpret it, Father?"

Abraxas made a look identical to the withering expression Lucius had done earlier. "Do I look like I read Sanskrit?"

"That's what I said!" exclaimed Lucius, smiling all over himself.

"Lucius." Narcissa pointed down into the embers of the fire where a face had appeared. "It's Severus." It had to be important, everyone who knew him knew he absolutely hated fire calls. Together she and Lucius bent down to hear what he had to say.

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"You can't be serious."

"Who else would I be?" grinned Sirius.

"Is that how you're going out?" Harry regarded his godfather from head to foot, pursing his lips a tad at the faded blue jeans and black ZZ Top t-shirt. While there was no love lost between him and Daphne Greengrass, he'd expected Sirius to take her to a reputable establishment…or at least not to dress like a refugee from Woodstock.

"Yes, Mum," Sirius shot back, smirking. "What's wrong with it?"

"You look like a slob," said Harry bluntly. "I know Daphne—sort of—and she expects men to be more…genteel. I doubt she'll be impressed by your version of a guttersnipe."

Sirius peered down at his outfit. Okay, so it was slightly wrinkled and leagues from proper robes, but where he planned to take Daphne they didn't have a dress code—or more aptly, had the opposite of a dress code. They'd stand out like sore thumbs if they wore wizarding clothing.

"That's pretty harsh," he answered at last, pulling his wand from his back pocket. A wave down his body transfigured the Muggle clothes into a svelte midnight blue set of dress robes, complete with gold cufflinks. The spell would only hold for a couple hours, which was all he'd need for dinner before the surprise. "Better?"

"Much," nodded Harry. He jostled little Teddy in his arms trying to keep him from grabbing Sirius' hair; the tyke had a thing for long hair. He continued to scrutinize the older man. Sirius had shaved his beard and mustache, making him look almost as young as Harry himself, but he did look sharp. "You pass inspection."

"Wish me luck, Harry. I can't remember the last time I went on a date." Sadly, he honestly couldn't remember. In school he'd taken girls to dances or functions requiring a date, yet he'd never cared enough for any of them to ask them to Hogsmeade or anywhere else. As an adult before Azkaban, he'd let fighting Voldemort's minions consume him…hardly conducive to searching for a relationship. He suddenly felt like a nervous, inexperienced teenager all over again.

"You'll do fine, Sirius. Treat her like a goddess and everything will be great," laughed Harry with a wave to his godfather. Imitating him, Teddy morphed his hair black and spiky and waved to Sirius. "Have a good time."

Sirius patted his pocket where he kept both Muggle bills and wizard galleons. Not for the first time his mind strayed into pondering why Narcissa had given Regulus so much money that he'd refused to accept any from Sirius. Cissy claimed it was motivated by love of Reg, and maybe it was; they'd always been close. She probably felt sorry for him being penniless. Nonetheless, he thought it odd that Malfoy hadn't howled his objections.

Had Sirius known the money had actually come from 'Varden Lestrange' after claiming the Black/Lestrange vault, he'd have thought the whole deal too queer to go without investigation. Fortunately for everyone involved, not even Regulus was aware of the truth; as far as he knew, the Lestrange brothers and their friends were dead, and Narcissa was his benefactor.

Stepping out onto the porch step, Sirius glanced around and disappeared. He landed in front of an old, very large stone house on a huge clipped yard. He brushed down his robes, raked his fingers through his hair, cleared his throat, and bounded onto the Greengrass porch. A house elf in a purple pillowcase opened the heavy wooden door to him.

"I'm here for Miss Daphne," he said in a clear, steady voice. "I'm Sirius Black."

The elf grimaced at him before slamming the door in his face. Well, that could have gone better. Feeling somewhat embarrassed and more than a little angry, Sirius started to back up to go down the steps. A muttered swear word or two made their way into the light of day before he stopped to listen.

Inside the house he heard an irritated reprimand directed at someone named Tartsy—obviously the house elf, who momentarily reopened the door. "Severe apologies, Mr. Black. Miss Daphne saying Tartsy rude." The elf bowed low before him in a way that reminded him of Kreacher. "Miss Daphne wantsing Mr. Black to come in."

Sirius almost wished he'd been relegated to waiting on the porch. The instant he stepped foot in the house he felt four sets of eyes heavily upon him—five if he counted the bug-eyed elf glaring his way. Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass, Daphne, and Astoria had all turned out to gawk at the Gryffindor brave or foolish enough to ask one of their own out.

Mr. Greengrass, a dark haired, trim man of forty-something, took a few paces forward, not offering a hand. "Mr. Black, I'm only allowing my daughter to go out with you because she is of age. However, I am sending Tartsy along as a chaperone, so don't get any perverted ideas."

"I hadn't planned on any perversions, sir," Sirius replied with a forced smile. Yes, this was going to be loads of fun. Not! "Just dinner and some entertainment."

"That's the part we're worried about," chimed in Daphne's mother. After all, who knew what Black might consider entertainment?

"Alright Mum and Dad, you've met him." Daphne walked over to stand beside Sirius, and the look she gave him bespoke bushels of pity. Any Gryffindor would receive a cool welcome; Sirius Black, notorious for being a blood traitor and an outcast among his own family, went above and beyond a simple Gryffindor.

"Tartsy has orders to have you back by midnight," said Mrs. Greengrass, as if she thought Sirius had the intention of keeping the witch out all night.

"I'll have her back, Mrs. Greengrass," Sirius assured her as he took Daphne's arm to lead her out the door with Tartsy clinging for dear life to the girl's skirt. The moment it was safe to apparate, he zipped them away.

They apparated outside a posh London restaurant that catered to witches and wizards. Daphne jerked away from Sirius and slapped his arm. "Don't ever do that again! I wasn't ready, you practically suffocated me!"

"I'm extremely sorry," Sirius mumbled. Yep, loads of fun. "You look very pretty," he added hopefully.

Daphne grudgingly accepted the compliment before entering through the door he held for her. "You look nice, too."

Despite the shaky beginnings, the pair found themselves truly enjoying one another's company as the meal progressed. Even Tartsy hiding under the table, who'd sworn a lifetime of hatred upon Black, thought maybe she'd been a bit hasty. The wizard was witty and clever, and Miss Daphne looked quite content. And as humans went, this one wasn't as hideous as most.

After a pleasant, relaxed dinner, Sirius guided Daphne and Tartsy outside, smiling mysteriously. "Now it's time for the entertainment I promised. I don't suppose you're too familiar with Muggle establishments." He waited for her reaction to the word Muggle, and was somewhat disappointed.

Intrigued, Daphne merely shrugged one shoulder casually, her shawl falling down off her bare arms and revealing her pale pink sheath dress. "You don't know me very well, Mr. Black. You'd be surprised the things I'm familiar with."

Panting in horror, Tartsy gaped from one human to the other. Muggles? When had Miss Daphne ever lowered herself to associate with Muggles? How dare this intruder suggest such a thing!

"I'll need to modify our clothing," Sirius announced. Already he'd returned his robes to their original state, eliciting a laugh from Daphne. When he transfigured her robes into a tight pair of leather trousers and a pink t-shirt, she absolutely roared. She hadn't worn such trappings in ages! This jaunt just might be an exciting time after all.

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_"Born to be wild! Born to be wild!_" Sirius belted out from the stage as he gripped the karaoke microphone, his head tilted back, his inhibitions drowned by the four beers he'd quaffed before gathering the courage to take a turn singing in front of the girl he sincerely wanted to impress with a good time. He'd been told he had a decent voice, he only hoped she concurred.

At the end of the song he bowed and handed the mic to the person in charge, while applause and hearty cheers followed him to his seat. Daphne got up to embrace him, two beers having worked their charm on her as well. "I wish I knew some Muggle songs, that looks like fun," she said wistfully.

"Where's your elf—Tartsy?" asked Sirius, peeking under the table when he didn't feel bony hands grabbing his shins or poking him in the thighs. There was no one there. Crap, if he lost their elf the Greengrass couple would castrate him! In a frantic movement he stood up to look around the room, and his eyes fell on the stage where a tiny, bald, grotesque 'midget' in a purple mini-dress was gleefully trotting to center stage and getting ready to sing.

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The dew of the soft turf at Gretna Green, Scotland, had evaporated into an ethereal mist by the time Severus, Aline, Lucius, and Narcissa apparated together in a circle holding hands. Letting loose of each other, they studied their surroundings carefully: the area was surprisingly tranquil, few tourists or other couples within view. Ahead only a few meters lay their destination—a small, unimpressive blacksmith's shop built in the 1700s, adjacent to what had long ago been the blacksmith's cottage.

Narcissa instinctively smoothed her sleeveless, high-necked linen dress of deep forest green flecked with copper sparks. Beside her, Lucius was doing the same thing with his matching forest green robes, the tunic of which buttoned in front while Narcissa's frock buttoned down the back. He leaned in to whisper something to her and she chuckled softly.

Severus' elegant Italian robes mimicked the high-necked style of Lucius' outfit, though the charcoal grey trousers and fitted tunic sported a thin line of silver filigree along the cuffs, neckline, and pantleg. His shiny, sleek black hair was combed back and secured at the base of his neck with a leather thong.

He clutched Aline's hand as he gazed at her in rapturous wonder. Even when he'd despised the very sight of her, he'd always secretly thought her attractive; at this instant when the sun shone round her French-braided chestnut hair like a halo, she appeared no less than ravishing. Her full length, cap sleeved white silk gown clung titillatingly to her breasts without seeming provocatively low, and draped gracefully to puddle about her slipper clad feet. A delicate sprinkling of tiny diamond fragments trimmed the bustline and bodice; antique loop-closure buttons ran down the back to the modest bow situated above her buttocks. She wore the string of pearls borrowed from Glenna wrapped twice around her throat in choker fashion, the matching set of pearl earrings Severus had given her dangling from her earlobes.

"You look exquisite, my dear," Severus murmured.

"Thank you. I must say you look dashing and sophisticated—rather Malfoy-ish," Aline replied with a twinkle in her eye.

Severus' mouth quirked slightly. "And that's a good thing?"

"I'm standing right here," drawled Lucius, rolling his eyes.

"The priest is waiting," Narcissa reminded them all gently. "Shall we?"

If the men had been a fraction taller they'd have been forced to stoop to pass through the doorway into a small, narrow, white painted brick room whose ancient ceiling beams could be reached with a simple lift of the hand. In the area where originally a blacksmith's forge had stood, three worn wooden stairs climbed upward; at the bottom rested a black smithy's anvil. The priest who'd been sitting on the top step rose to greet them.

"Mr. Snape and Miss Conn?" he asked rhetorically. Unless another couple had arrived unexpectedly, this was the pair he'd made contact with last evening—or more exactly, the man he'd spoken with on the phone.

Severus and Aline moved forward stiffly to shake hands. The papers to be signed would wait till after the ceremony, at which time they were to receive a valid marriage certificate. Severus had been briefed on the nature of the service and had attempted to prepare Aline accordingly.

"If you're ready, we'll get started," said the priest as he led Aline to one side of the anvil and waved at Severus to stay put on the opposite side. He motioned for Lucius and Narcissa to come stand closer. Hundreds of elopements, aside from scheduled wedding, had put him on automatic pilot as far as directing the event.

"Now if you two lovebirds will join right hands over the anvil."

Severus and Aline stretched out their arms and clasped hands. The priest nudged Aline gently and smiled encouragingly. "Miss Conn, if you will?"

She nodded in understanding and lifted her eyes to meet those of her fiancé. "Severus, I'm at a loss where to begin. Last night I tried to write something that sounded romantic and exciting, something worthy of a perfect wedding…all I could think of was how we've progressed in such a short time from mutual animosity to this—eloping over a blacksmith's anvil."

She gave a nervous laugh. The Malfoys smiled knowingly, remembering their own wedding and all the uncertainty that came with it. If Severus was worried that his bride was having second thoughts or trying to back out of marrying him, he didn't show it. He pressed his fingers more tightly into her palm as he did his best to project his love for her to see.

Aline went on quietly, "So all I can do is tell you how I feel. I think you know that you're a breed apart from most men. I stand in awe of the tenacity and fortitude you've shown for so many years in the face of overwhelming tribulations. Through it all, you remain who you are, you don't let what others think of you change that. To the world you show yourself as hard and sarcastic and mean. I'm one of the privileged few who see the gentleness, the passion, the intense capacity for love that you hide inside…and I'm lucky, so very lucky to love and to be loved by such an extraordinary man."

Unshed tears moistened the corners of her eyes, her voice began to tremble, and she dug her hand harder into his. She took a deep breath, keeping her focus on her groom.

"You accept me for who I am, you delight in discovering new aspects in me. You not only _love_ me, you _like_ me. When I feel weak, I draw strength from you and you give it willingly. When I see myself reflected in your eyes, I feel beautiful. When I think of how long we've only known each other, and how far we've come, it makes my heart swell because I can't imagine how it can get any better, and yet I know it will. I give myself to you trusting that you will cherish my heart as I cherish yours."

A long silence followed, punctuated by Aline sniffing helplessly and dabbing at the tears escaping her dark eyes. Assured that the woman had finished her vows, and when she'd got herself under control once more, the priest at last turned to Snape and nodded.

Severus smirked with dry humour as he said, "I was merely going to say I love you completely, without reservation; it rather pales in comparison to your glowing commentary."

A light snicker from Lucius prompted Narcissa to elbow him in the side as she daintily dried her own tears with a green lace handkerchief that matched her dress.

"Aline, I've never been free with praise, nor one to publicly express my emotions. If ever there was a time for an exception, it is now. You _are_ beautiful, and if I make you feel that way it's only because you've snapped the chains binding my embittered heart and replaced them with your tender words and caresses that ignite a fire so bright and unquenchable it sears my soul. With a touch of your hand my life is an open book to you, a life that at times I am not proud of. Instead of running from me as fast as your legs can carry you, you lay your head on my chest and tell me you love me, and I feel so incredibly fortunate. When I look at you, I see more than a talented, brilliant Potions mistress, a dedicated and beloved teacher, a woman of unparalleled compassion…I see a resplendent future that I never dreamed possible or ever thought I deserved. You have given me life in ways I could not have envisioned only a year ago. I am the one who is privileged. You bless me with your love, and I will cherish you all the days of my life."

Another bout of tear wiping on behalf of the witches.

"Your rings," the priest intoned, and waited for Lucius and Narcissa to produce them and hand them to the bride and groom. "The ring serves as a symbol of eternal love, having no beginning and no end. You may now exchange them with these words: _With this ring I thee wed and pledge my fidelity to thee."_

Aline gently held Severus' left hand with her own as she haltingly slid the pinkie ring onto his little finger, in wizard custom. Like her own, it was a white gold ornamented serpent that seemed to slither around his finger; its emerald formed the eye of the creature. "With this ring I thee wed and pledge my fidelity to thee."

In like fashion, Severus slid the wedding band onto Aline's finger where her engagement ring still abided. As the snake neared its counterpart, its miniature jaws opened wide to clamp down onto the emerald held in the mouth of the serpent who encircled her finger in the opposite direction. The instant its fangs sank into the jewel, a glowing white light burst out and hovered not only about her hand, but about Severus' ring as well—to the astonishment of the priest. "With this ring I thee wed and pledge my fidelity to thee."

The Muggle priest blinked a few times and shook his head. Everything appeared normal now, it had to be a trick of the light. No one else seemed perturbed. "As is tradition here at the Blacksmith's Workshop, we now bind the hands over the anvil. Have you a sash or tie?"

Severus started to shake his head when Lucius reached up to the copper flecked silk ribbon holding his hair. He released it in one quick pull and handed it to the priest, who expertly wound it twice about the couple's clasped hands and tied it in a loose knot.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife."


	80. Fluff and Scary Stuff

Death Eater No More—Chapter Eighty (Fluff and Scary Stuff)

Severus raised his arms high over his head in a mighty stretch before draping them around Aline once more and sighing contentedly. After their elopement they'd come back to Hogwarts to the Room of Requirement for—by Severus' reckoning—if needing a decent, romantic place to consummate his secret wedding after months of frustration didn't qualify as 'requirement', what did?

The Room had obliged in spectacular fashion. A sprawling king sized bed outfitted in velvets and silks and flanked by antique chestnut night tables occupied the center of the surprisingly cozy space; two clothes racks closer to the wall served as convenient keepers for the garments to prevent wrinkling or soiling. A sideboard sported various hot dishes from soups, meats, and vegetable medleys to a broad array of breads and pastas, chilled wines and champagne, and a couple-sized vanilla cake with raspberry filling and buttercream frosting. Off on the other end of the room beside the enormous fireplace set a claw footed tub already full of bubbly warm water. All around the room dozens of candles setting on ledges and hung from aged chandeliers created an aura of romantic ambiance.

Aline rolled over against her husband and slid her hand down his lithe, naked body. Although thin, his sinewy muscles rippled under his smooth white skin. Because of the limitations imposed on her clairvoyance, she'd never dared to be too forward with a man, never allowed herself to caress a man's bare chest, let alone other parts of him. It felt so good, so right to be here with Severus—once the initial shyness and fear had broken down. Now, a number of hours after arriving to the Room of Requirement, there was not an inch of Severus' body she hadn't examined in delighted wonder between their lovemaking sessions.

"I'm hungry," she whispered in his ear, licking his earlobe just for fun.

Severus laughed—not in his usual sneering or sarcastic manner, but one that lit his face with a boyish charm one wouldn't expect from a wizard who'd rarely let himself be at total ease for most of his life. The genuine smile transformed him, if only momentarily, into the person Aline recognized as his true self hidden inside. "Is this your way of saying you want more, my love? We only finished five minutes ago."

"Um, no," Aline smiled back. She pointed at the sideboard from where delicious aromas wafted. "It means I want _food_, all this exercise makes me ravenous. And that cake looks pretty yummy." She drained the glass of champagne on her side table and hopped out of bed onto the frigid stone floor. "Oh, cold!"

Laughing again as he regarded his wife through loving eyes, Snape forced himself up as well. He slipped on a silver silk bathrobe that had appeared on the duvet and circled the bed to hand the smaller red silk robe to the witch. He noticed she'd found a pair of fuzzy slippers.

"After we eat, would you like to bathe with me?" asked Aline, tossing the words back at him while she surveyed the food choices.

"It would be my great pleasure. In the future, you need never ask," he replied with a squeeze on her rear end. He felt himself becoming aroused again at the thought.

"Then afterward I have to go see my parents." His groan wasn't lost on her. Holding a fried chicken leg, she turned, her brown eyes troubled. "I told them I'd come over this evening, I can't just leave them alone."

"Aline, it's our wedding day," he protested.

"And I'll be back later for the wedding night…though we've kind of accomplished the purpose of that numerous times already," Aline reasoned composedly. "Besides, I could use a break, I'm kind of sore."

Severus was set to offer her a potion for the pain, right before he bit his tongue. If Aline wanted to see her family, she could see her family; he had no right to dissuade her from that. And as a gentleman deeply in love with his wife, he could hardly in good conscience ask her to 'work through the pain'. Perhaps a short break would do her good. Before he'd even uttered the next question he wondered what lunacy had struck him and he wished he'd kept his mouth blissfully shut. "Would you like me to come along?"

At her smile of gratitude, his heart melted. Maybe it hadn't been a bad decision after all.

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When Aline arrived at the Prince estate, she wasn't thinking as clearly as she should have been, the day's events having overwhelmed her senses. It wasn't every day she got married! She threw her arms around her father and planted a hearty kiss on his cheek. "Hi, Dad. Sorry I'm so late."

Aloysius blinked perplexedly as he hugged her in return. That kiss, brief as it had been, had sent a ripple through his gift, a peculiar quiver that gave him pause. Something wasn't right. On sudden impulse he reached up a hand, his fingers stroked his daughter's cheek; his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "Aline…you got married?"

Realizing her father had read her with his talent, a clairvoyance significantly more powerful and precise than her own, Aline jerked away from the man. It did not occur to her to protest the intrusion, it had been a standard part of her life for as long as she could remember. Her father hadn't ever snooped in her thoughts, had only entered when he felt a disturbance. Instead she cried out in her mind with a desperation born of disillusioning her father, with the inability to proclaim her innocence or even offer a viable explanation. Her mouth worked dumbly to form a semblance of intelligible speech.

Not missing a beat, Severus stepped up beside her and wrapped his left arm round her shoulders, clearly displaying the pinkie wedding ring. "Yes, Mr. Conn, Aline and I are married. We eloped this morning."

At first Aloysius didn't answer. His stunned, saddened visage made Aline's heart contract into an aching ball. Finally he moved forward, arms outstretched to hug the two together. When he returned to his spot he said, "I won't pretend I'm not disappointed, sweetie. I was looking forward to walking you down the aisle. However, it's your decision. Severus, take good care of my little girl; Aline, I think you made a fine choice for a husband, and I congratulate you both."

"Thank you, Dad. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disappoint you."

"I know, sweetie." A comforting smile sent the witch barreling into his embrace again. "I wish you only happiness, and it appears Severus makes the perfect husband for you, even if I missed watching you wed."

"Husband?" Eleanor Conn echoed from the doorway. Like Aloysius, she wore a shocked, disbelieving expression. As she stomped into the room she exclaimed, "What is going on?"

Aline instinctively shrank away into her father's arms, and his grip tightened in a show of support. In a small voice reminiscent of her childhood she murmured, "Severus and I got married this morning." Why did she feel so guilty, as if she'd done something wrong?

The air in the room dropped several degrees and came to a standstill along with all sound and movement, the literal calm before the storm. Then came the storm. "I can't believe you'd pull this, Aline! The whole family is coming all the way from Salem! How selfish can you be?"

Severus bristled visibly. "Mrs. Conn, with all due respect—and I am not entirely sure the respect is due—I will not stand by while my wife is verbally attacked. Were it not for _your_ continual sniping at Aline that reduced her to tears worrying over how _you_ might decide to ruin her wedding, she would have been perfectly content to stick with the plans."

"Hah," scoffed the older witch with a gesture toward the young woman. "She's always been this way. She can't stand to play by the rules, that's why she's here now instead of in Salem. She's just like Alonzo, stubborn and—"

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here!" shrilled Aline, breaking free of her father's grip. "Just quit, Mom! I'm married, there's nothing you can do about it—and yes, it has been consummated!"

"Repeatedly," interjected Severus dryly.

Aline shot him a scathing 'You're not helping' glare before turning her anger on her mother. "I'm sick of being compared to everyone else and never measuring up! Maybe Lonny has the right idea!"

Eleanor scowled and shook her head. "Because you don't have the same talent as others in the family you feel insecure. I understand that, but it's no excuse to act out."

"Gee, I wonder why I feel insecure," Aline snapped in reply. "Could it be that you never let up harping on it? _You_ don't even have it, Mom, it comes from the Conn side!"

"Aloysius, are you going to let your daughter speak to me this way?" demanded Eleanor, whirling on the wizard trying to blend into the wall.

The man sighed. He hated these family fights. "The last time I checked, she was also your daughter, Eleanor. And I haven't heard her say anything that wasn't true."

The witch's scowl intensified until the creases between her eyes formed a furrow. "Getting back on topic, Aline is doing this to spite me. She knew what this wedding meant to me!"

While Aline gaped in disbelief, Severus took the opportunity to do what he'd felt a strong desire to do the first time he met his mother-in-law. Piercing the woman with flat black eyes, in an eerily calm drawl he said, "Mrs. Conn, I suggest you shut your gob, you're obviously delusional. Not everything on Earth revolves around you. Furthermore, your carping, shrewish attitude toward your own daughter is repugnant to me. How anyone could have such little faith in or regard for a witch of such skill and grace escapes me completely. And if, as you propose, Aline 'ran away' to teach at Hogwarts, I dare say it is the best thing she has ever done. Meeting her and coming to love her has transformed not only myself but many others; her efforts helped save the life and sanity of the young man scheduled to marry in the double ceremony. Perhaps if you removed your head from your arse, you'd be able to appreciate your daughter for who she is and not who you'd like her to be!"

An oppressive, chilled hush followed. Eleanor looked like she'd swallowed something particularly nasty; Aloysius looked to be holding back a laugh that if let loose would only ignite the fragile silence into a barrage of screaming accusations. Aline's horrified gaze bounced like a ball bearing in a pinball machine from one parent to the other to her husband.

At length Aline said softly, "Severus, that's not very respectful."

"But it is absolutely true," he maintained steadfastly, crossing his arms. "I'm not going to apologize for defending you."

"Aline," clipped Eleanor. She refused to grace her son-in-law with her glance. "Before you left Salem you were dating Paxon. He's handsome, rich, from a good family. If you didn't break up with him—one of the top eligible bachelors in the Massachusetts area—because I was the one who brought you two together, then why did you dump him? You never deigned to offer an explanation. Answer me that."

"You think Aline sabotaged the relationship to spite you?" exclaimed Aloysius, coming forward. "No matter how perfect you may think this Paxon is, our daughter is not that shallow!"

"Thank you, Dad." Aline looked unwaveringly at her mother. "You know why Paxon is still an eligible bachelor? Because he's an asshole. Before I met Severus, I accepted men's assertions that I was weird or abnormal, but Severus made me see that there's nothing wrong with me. If they couldn't deal with who I am, too bad."

"So you split up because Paxon called you weird?" asked Eleanor.

Aline hesitated, rapidly sorting her thoughts. It was time for the truth. Taking a deep breath she responded, "No, I ended it because he called me a 'freaky little clairvoyant' and said that he should rape me to 'make me normal'."

Only a second's worth of shocked silence before Eleanor shrieked in incredulous fury, "Oh! That little bastard! No one treats my daughter that way!"

"Did he hurt you?" demanded Aloysius, his face livid, his usually calm brown eyes flashing.

"No, but when he walked away he was walking funny," answered Aline stoically. The memory gave her a grim satisfaction.

"What did you say his name is?" queried Snape through clenched jaw.

"Paxon Winston," said Mrs. Conn, finally acknowledging the wizard in front of her face. Severus nodded once to her, which she reciprocated.

"_Mom_! Why did you tell him that?" Aline cried.

"Because he asked," retorted the older witch. All at once it hit her why Severus wanted to know and she smiled malevolently. "I misjudged you, Severus. Something good may come of this yet."

Aline clutched her husband's arm. "Severus, don't do anything stupid. He didn't harm me."

"He tried, didn't he? Isn't that why you struck him and he 'walked away funny'?" When he received no response, it only verified his suspicions and increased the roiling hatred in his gut. He patted her hand reassuringly. "Don't worry, my love, I rarely do stupid things. Is there anything wrong with counseling Mr. Winston to make sure he doesn't try to rape any other women?"

Eleanor sidled up to the couple, her earlier indignation a figment of the past. "Aline, I thought I knew better than you who you should be with. I was very wrong about Severus; you choose a good man, one who will protect you and look out for you. I'm sorry I made such a fool of myself. I only wish you had let the family be at your wedding."

With that she turned and left the room, along with all its baffled occupants, and strolled outside onto the porch.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

The lamps burning on either side of Lucius' library desk offered far too little light for the task at hand. Draco rubbed his tired eyes and squinted down at the writing on the marble amulet he'd sneaked from the wall safe behind him. It stood open in testimony to his direct disobedience. His father had placed the strange object in the safe and commanded that it be left alone until the Headmaster from Durmstrang arrived. Draco hadn't seen any harm in examining the artifact, perhaps in trying to translate it. Why was everyone acting like it might explode in their hands? So Aunt Bella was afraid of it, so what? She was a major psychopath with a minor in social dysfunction!

The flickering flames cast odd shadows on the marble, making the lettering even harder to decipher, yet he feared if he used a _lumos_ charm it would bathe the room in light…he'd really prefer not to alert his father to his presence or what he was doing, good intentions notwithstanding.

From what had been his grandfather Abraxas' old library Draco had retrieved several thick volumes, which presently sat on Lucius' desk. One book stood open to a section on Sanskrit writing—or more precisely, pronunciation. Another text, a dictionary of sorts, lay off to the side. In the three hours he'd been studying, Draco could claim with a small degree of certainty that he'd translated the words _call_ and _power_.

"I wish I could read this," Draco muttered to himself.

Naturally, any good Malfoy would assume that possessing the ability to call upon power was a positive thing, and the tiny victories egged him on in his pitiful attempts at pronouncing the words. Conversely, any person of sound mind would be rightfully petrified by an entity taking control of one's vocal cords and using them to speak in a foreign tongue.

Draco was no exception. When he started uttering incomprehensible phrases in a throaty, gravelly voice that he could not control, he leaped out of his chair clutching his neck with one hand, his grey eyes bulging in terror. The instant the incantation finished, there was a thunderous crash in the sky over the manor; a black filmy mist seeped straight through the ceiling and coalesced into an undulating dark blob in front of him.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

As they had done for months, Tonia and Mateo ambled about Malfoy Manor, guarding the place. Soon, after the wedding, they planned to return to Spain. Since the goblin threat had been neutralized, their presence was more a formality than anything else. In fact, weeks ago Mateo had sent the rest of the _sangristas_ back home; not surprisingly, the crew were willing and eager to leave after their long stint in Britain. The deafening clap of noise made them both jump a little, vampires having sensitive hearing.

"Sientes eso?" (_Do you feel that?_) Tonia whispered in alarm, looking up and around as if expecting assault. The sickly sensation sent chills down her spine.

Mateo paused to listen and sniff the air, though he didn't expect to experience what Tonia did. She had a gift, a special attunement to feel odd things and psychic forces before ordinary humans or vampires. "No. Que es?" (_No. What is it?)_

"Viene de arriba." _(It's coming from upstairs.)_ She pushed off to fly up the staircase with Mateo right beside her.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Speak your will," hissed the faceless blob.

Frozen in place, scarcely breathing, Draco choked, "Who are you?"

"I am the lord of the amulet," answered the entity. It seemed to grow and diminish at random intervals. "What is the power you wish?"

"I—I don't," squeaked Draco. His legs trembled so badly they buckled beneath him and he fell onto the chair with a limp plop.

The creature bounced forward to the front of the desk. "You summoned me. As per the terms, when your power is granted, I shall exact my price."

To say Draco had started to panic would be a wild understatement. The poor boy was virtually catatonic with fear, hanging by a thread. "I—I don't even know what you're talking about! I didn't summon you!"

The artifact on the desk rose to hover inches above. A voice virtually identical to the one that had gripped Draco when he had spoken in a foreign tongue emanated from the blob as it intoned, "'_I call upon the keeper of strength and authority, influence and dominance. My desire for power I hold out to you in exchange for a price of your choosing. I summon you, lord of the amulet. Come.'_ These are the words you spoke with my assistance. Had you not asked for my help, I could not have given it."

The closer the vampires got to the faintly glowing light under Lucius' library door, the stronger the evil sensation became until Mateo felt like it would engulf him forever. He dropped to the floor and flung open the door expecting to see the patriarch of the manor.

"Draco!" In a heartbeat he crossed the space to the nearly hysterical lad. "Order it back where it came from!"

"Go back where you came from," Draco repeated weakly. As quickly as it had come, the mist dissolved and vanished away. The talisman floated down to its spot on the desk. Draco collapsed forward onto his arms, finally able to breathe…momentarily.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" barked Mateo, causing his nephew to start violently. "Don't you realize how dangerous demons are?"

"D-demons? I didn't mean to, I was just reading this, I didn't know what it said and it—it took over—and…" He pointed at the amulet setting there innocently, his voice shaking.

Mateo had set to pacing up and down in agitation. He'd have to tell Lucius about this, there was no way to know if the demon was gone for good, or if it might follow Draco around until it got what it wanted. As he stalked back and forth he lifted his hand, forefinger and thumb nearly touching. "Damn it all, Draco, I'm this close to bending you over that table and whaling the daylights out of you! Believe me when I say you've no idea how hard a vampire can hit."

"I'm sorry," whispered Draco for lack of knowing what else to say. If Mateo did whip him he'd deserve it…that didn't mean he'd blithely go along with the idea. "I didn't know what it would do, I was only trying to translate it."

"Your father said it was dangerous, that should be enough for you!"

Neither of them had noticed Tonia approaching the desk cautiously until she picked up the amulet and stared hard at it. In her lilting accent she said, "I have seen one of these in Portugal—not exactly the same, but similar writing." One delicate finger idly stroked the lettering. "It was said the owners tried to destroy it by some magical means. At the time I did not believe it, I had never seen wizard magic."

"Did it work?" asked Mateo.

"No. It brought damnation and devastation upon the entire family."


	81. Repercussions

Death Eater No More—Chapter Eighty-One (Repercussions)

Lucius woke abruptly in the pitch dark of his room to the feel of a cold hand clamped over his mouth in a vise-like grip. Only a sliver of moonlight shining through a crack in the curtains illuminated the space. His eyes growing wide, his pulse racing frantically, he grabbed the arm and tried to sit up or twist away; the steel muscles held him down as if he were a child. Instantly in his mind he was back in the dark lord's employ, he'd been targeted, his family was in danger. A foot lashed out from under the blanket to catch the intruder square in the groin.

There was an inhaled gasp and the prowler roughly shoved Lucius back into place, then bent down to whisper in his ear, "Do that again and I swear to God I'll rip off that foot and take it with me to Spain! I need to speak with you. Now." The icy hand covering his mouth removed itself.

Too relieved to be properly angry, Lucius retorted in a whispered hiss, "There _are_ other ways to wake people."

Mateo didn't offer his usual boyish grin and shrug. In fact, he looked downright grim. He peered over at the slumbering Narcissa as he gave Lucius a nudge that was none too gentle. "Come on."

His nephew returned a withering stare that Mateo's keen eyesight had no trouble discerning. "I prefer not to indiscriminately expose myself, if you don't mind."

That elicited a more natural response from the _sangrista_, who smirked in the oh-so-typical Malfoy manner. He inclined his blond head in a nod. "I didn't realize you were nude. I'll wait outside."

Less than half a minute passed before Lucius made an appearance outside the bedroom door, which he softly closed behind him. He was modestly attired in royal blue silk pajama bottoms with a matching robe belted over top. His flowing mane was slightly disheveled, and he held his wand loosely between his fingers.

Now that his brain had snapped to attention he'd automatically set to analyzing the situation, his mind whirling as he ticked off possible scenarios and their likelihood. The fact that the vampire had skulked into his room in the middle of the night to fetch him did not bode well at all. The goblin threat had been eliminated by the arrest of Griphook and Karnak, and the unpleasant, unplanned (though certainly not mourned) death of Ratell at Lucius' hands while questioning him as to Narcissa's whereabouts. The wards around the manor precluded almost any other intrusion. If there were a fire, the elves would have alerted him. Narcissa was safe in bed, Ladon slept in his crib adjacent to the bed where he could see his mother if he awoke…that left Draco.

With his stomach knotting painfully, Lucius said, "What's going on?"

"Come to your library with me," answered Mateo, starting off down the hallway. "I'll explain on the way."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

When Lucius and Mateo entered the library, Draco was still seated at the desk, bending forward with his head resting on his arms. Behind him the wall safe hung wide open; the detestable amulet sat on the desk as far as Draco could push it from himself. Tonia perched on the edge of the desk swinging one leg in time to a song no one else heard. She looked up expectantly before the two even arrived, her sharp ears picking up the padding of their feet on the thick rug.

The first thing Lucius did was to approach the desk. As he reached for the amulet, Draco flinched back and sat bolt upright with a mixture of guilt and sorrow written on his face. The elder Malfoy lifted the marble object, staring down at it and weighing it in his hand before he rounded the desk and carefully placed the talisman in the safe. He shut the door, spun the dial, then aimed his wand and cast three spells in rapid succession at the safe. They struck the metal to surround it like a cocoon. He felt quite certain Draco would not be able to undo even one of the spells, let alone all three, two of which he'd learned from Voldemort himself. The brat would not be getting into the safe again.

He turned to his son. A flash of fury raced through his veins and he suppressed it behind a tranquil façade, the only hint being the stormy steel in his eyes. It was enough. Draco literally forced the chair backward, scraping the legs mercilessly across the wooden floor. Lucius raised a hand, crooked his fingers, and the door to the library closed.

"Mateo tells me you are unharmed," said Lucius evenly. "You could have been killed playing with things you don't understand."

"I wasn't playing, Father," replied the boy meekly. His eyes sought the refuge of the scuffed wood at his feet. "I was trying to help."

Lucius crossed his arms, cocked his head, and raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. "Do tell, son. If I had believed it beneficial to recite obscure incantations to beckon demons, I'd have done it myself. Instead, I ordered the amulet locked away."

"You locked it up because you didn't know what it would do," grumbled Draco in his own defense. His shoe brushed over a scratch, back and forth, back and forth.

"_And you did_?" exploded Lucius, forgetting to care whether Tonia or Mateo witnessed his wrath. A mighty brush of his arm sent the pile of books tumbling off the desk across the room. Draco recoiled further; Tonia, seated on the opposite side of the desk, flew up to hover near the ceiling. "You invited a f—king demon into my house! Explain to me how that is helping in any sense of the word!"

Draco gulped, his eyes flicked up to his father's face and immediately back down again. "I didn't mean to, I—"

"Look at me when I speak to you!" thundered the older wizard.

Ever so slowly the boy's gaze shifted upward until it rested on Lucius' chin. He simply could not bear to endure the ire encapsulated in his father's face. "I was trying to translate the text. I said I wished I could read it, and the next thing I knew I _was_ reading it, but it wasn't my voice." He broke off, biting his lip to still the trembling.

"And why did you find it necessary to flout my authority to begin with, Draco? Why was it so imperative that _you_ be the one to translate it?" demanded Lucius. As he had anticipated, no reply was forthcoming so he went on, "You wanted to solve the mystery of the amulet and make yourself the big hero, didn't you? And you solved it alright, in a huge, horrible way! Your glory-seeking has put us all in peril! We don't know where that demon is, whether it's gone or hovering about." He shook his head in disgust and started to turn away.

"I just wanted to be important," Draco murmured quietly, pleading with his father's back. "I wanted your approval."

"You should be aware by this time that disobedience does not win my approval!" Lucius snarled, whirling on his son. At the sight of the pathetic youth, his features softened. "You are, and always will be, very important to me and your mother. We love you, we are concerned about you. You are a Malfoy, son, that alone makes you important in the wizarding world. That said, I cannot condone what you have done, the danger you put yourself and all of us into. If it had truly been an accident, the consequences might be different; as it stands, you deliberately took that amulet from my safe against my express directive. Go to your room and wait for me."

Draco pushed himself up from the chair using the armrests. He started to say something, reconsidered, then stiffly walked past his father around the desk and out the door without a word to anyone.

When he'd gone, Mateo floated over and began to pick up the books Lucius had thrown in his anger. Keeping his face averted he queried, "What are we going to do, Lucius? I can't be sure the demon is gone, and I have no idea how to protect you from it."

"You saw it leave?"

"Yes. But it seemed from what Draco told me of the conversation that the demon won't _really_ leave until he has given it a command. I think it's waiting for him to summon it again." Mateo placed the volumes on the desk in a neat stack.

"He would not be so foolish," interjected Tonia as she drifted down from the ceiling. "The demon exacts a price, does it not? We must assume a demon deals in death and destruction, not in money. Draco will not risk those he loves again."

"I should hope not," muttered Lucius. "If you'll excuse me, Draco and I have unfinished business, then I'm going to bed. I'm afraid there is nothing we can do now except wait. That amulet and its demon will have to keep until Tanassov gets here."

He stalked out the door and snapped his fingers. His charmed walking stick sailed up the stairs, and down the hallway; he caught it without breaking stride.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

There were only a few more days till the new school year began and Severus had not yet finished all the tasks of a Headmaster. Most of the first year student files, alphabetically arranged, occupied two drawers of the massive filing cabinet hidden behind a faux wall panel. Three remained on his desk for review, though only one truly concerned him—a Muggleborn from Kent. He'd visited the family, gained their glib assurances that their daughter would be attending, and then nothing. No correspondence of any kind for over a month. Something might be wrong, they may have changed their minds, and if that was the case he'd have to _obliviate_ the lot of them, along with anyone they'd been stupid enough to tell.

He pinched his brows together at the same time his lips pursed into a grousing sulk. Why were Muggles even given a choice in whether their magical children attended school to learn how to use their gifts? It was their birthright, they ought not be stunted by closeminded fools who didn't understand the sacrifice they required of their son or daughter.

There was a light knock at the door. "Severus?" Without waiting for a response Minerva pushed open the heavy door and strode in with a man at her elbow. "Mr. Conn is here to see you."

Snape's head jerked up; he shook his hair back from his face in undisguised puzzlement. "Mr. Conn, this is a surprise. I'll call Aline—"

"No, I wanted to talk to you." Aloysius nodded his thanks to the Transfiguration professor who was taking her good time to exit the room.

"If you need me, you know where to find me," Minerva piped up. She hated it when shut out of a perfectly good mystery like why Aline's father had not asked for his daughter after coming all the way from America. And Severus, secretive lad he'd always been, certainly wasn't going to share with her over tea and biscuits…though perhaps a round or two of scotch whiskey would loosen his tongue.

"Thank you, Minerva," said Snape in a clip that suggested she probably should go. She primly pulled the door shut behind her and grudgingly went to resume her inventorying with Poppy. Severus motioned to the chair in front of his desk. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"You can call me Aloysius or Dad, to start with," replied the wizard, seating himself. Only now did Severus note the red-rimmed eyes and upset countenance. Aloysius leaned forward, took a calming breath, and said, "I came to ask you for a favor. But first I suppose I should explain a few things."

"Such as?" prompted Severus when no more was forthcoming.

Aloysius exhaled loudly and leaned back again. "My wife. I love Eleanor as much as you love Aline, and I'm not silly enough to think you don't wonder why. She is a fine woman, Severus, she has so many lovely qualities."

Carefully sculpting his face to a blank slate, Snape returned, "I'm sure she does."

"Don't patronize me, son. In your shoes, I'd think she was a raving bitch—with ample reason." The elder man swallowed hard and lowered his eyes. "Recently she went through menopause, she suffered a lot from…how shall I say?"

"Erratic mood swings, irrational behaviour?" offered Snape.

Aloysius' eyes hardened, then he smiled wryly. "I was going to say hormonal fluctuations, but—fair enough. She refused any medicine on the grounds that menopause is perfectly natural."

"So is syphilis, but I'd prefer not to live with it," answered Severus dryly.

That earned a laugh from the other wizard, a deep, rich tone that echoed through the place. All at once he became serious again. "I'm used to her mood shifts, only yesterday with that whole conversation about Paxon…don't get me wrong, Eleanor loves Aline dearly, yet I have never witnessed in all my years with her such an abrupt turnaround. It worried me."

Not thinking it polite to tell his father-in-law to get to the point, Severus said nothing. He folded his slim hands on the desk and waited patiently. If Aloysius had come to apologize for his wife's abysmal behaviour, who was Severus to take that away from him? Before he quite realized it, Conn was speaking again.

"So I did something I promised my wife I would never do without her permission: I read her with my ability." He bit his lip and tried to blink back the tears starting to trickle down his cheeks, which he brushed aside with the palms of his hands. His voice cracked as he confessed, "She has a tumor in her brain."

Severus' back stiffened and he sat straight up in shocked disbelief. The memory of the crushing pain he'd experienced when he found out his mother had been diagnosed with cancer came roaring back. "How bad is it? Is she dying?"

Aloysius shook his head numbly. "I don't know. It's growing so slow they aren't sure what the outcome will be. But it's been there growing and changing her personality for _forty_ years and everyone blames _her_—including me!" He let out a frustrated, agonized sob. "How could I not know something was wrong? Every time she got pregnant, the hormones made it grow faster…at menopause it got even worse, and all along she knew and she never told me!"

There was an awkward silence punctuated by Mr. Conn's attempts to control himself; it was so recently discovered, it was still too raw. Severus cleared his throat. "She probably didn't tell you because she doesn't want to worry you. I'll be happy to brew any potion she needs."

Aloysius shook his head again. "I respect you and Aline as two of the finest Potions masters, if you could help I wouldn't be too proud to ask. It's just that she is evidently being treated by an eminent healer in Salem, he has slowed the progression of the tumor. If I involved you, she'd know I…"

Severus narrowed his obsidian eyes a bit, regarding the man. Conn's talent was no doubt exceptional to gain so much insight from a mere touch. He hardly needed his many years as a spy to deduce that Aloysius had neither confronted his wife concerning what he'd learned, nor did he intend to do so any time soon. "I'm at a loss as to the favor you mentioned."

"I want to ask you to convince Aline to go through with the wedding on August 25th, in front of our families and friends. It would mean so much to Eleanor, and to me. Aline said your elopement was still a secret for now."

"Eleanor already knows we are married," Severus reminded him.

Aloysius reached out a beseeching hand, his jaw clenched to suppress another outburst. "Please, Severus. I'm aware that for you it would be only a recitation of vows, but for us…we wanted to see our daughter married. For all I know, Eleanor may not have….is it asking so much?"

_Way to lay on the guilt, Dad!_ Severus grumbled inwardly. "Why don't you ask Aline yourself?"

"Because if I tried, I'm afraid I'd let it slip about her mother's illness. I don't want her to know, at least not until we've gone back to Salem. It would upset her deeply and ruin her wedding day." Conn's troubled brown eyes, so very much like his daughter's, settled on Snape like twin orbs of reproach.

"I'll do what I can," sighed Severus. "I don't make any promises—your daughter can be very stubborn and hardheaded."

"That's all I expect," Aloysius replied, reaching out to shake Snape's hand. To his credit, he stifled his innate desire to read the wizard by means of this brief contact. Had he given in to temptation, he'd have got more than he bargained for, more than he cared to handle just now. "You'll let me know soon, right? Eleanor is embarrassed to tell the family about you and Aline yet, so we have a little time." A weak smile tipped up one corner of his mouth. "I'll see you later, son."

Severus reciprocated with a half-smirk. "Indeed…Dad."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Loud clownish music, bright blinking lights, shouts of the hawkers at their stalls, multitudes of people milling around, the aroma of buttered popcorn and hotdogs and stale sweat: the carnival was exactly as Regulus remembered it. Of course, he'd died not long after his last visit here, so it was only to be expected that he'd remember, though twenty years had come and gone in that blink of an eye.

He glanced sidelong at his companions and snickered to himself at their absolute dismay. Had _he_ looked so lost the first time Sirius had brought him to a large gathering of Muggles? Draco and Bayly had unconsciously moved back to back, fingers twitching as if itching to draw their wands to protect themselves from the sheer madness around them. Their eyes, round with either fear or wonder—or both—shifted from one sight to another. The Ferris wheel full of shrieking and laughing folks seemed to have caught their attention.

"Are you sure this place is safe?" queried Bayly loudly to be heard over the crowd jostling round them. The roller coaster had gone by only moments earlier; the screams of dozens of Muggles on board were hardly comforting.

"Yeah, it's fun. Come on, I was here a couple times before and it was a blast!" Regulus assured him, eagerly explaining how things were. "If you don't want to go on the rides yet, we can play the games. The carnies use tricks and deceit, though. I'm pretty good with wandless magic, so we can even it out and win loads of stuff."

"Like what?'' Draco drawled, keeping a wary watch to avoid letting the Muggles touch him. He sidestepped a couple heading his way and scowled at them. He felt so conspicuous in his jeans and grey t-shirt, certain his sire would not approve even though Lucius had given permission to go on this jaunt.

Regulus pointed at a booth nearby where milk bottles were set stacked in a pyramid formation and a young man was throwing a baseball to try to knock them down. Lining the top shelf behind and along the sides of the booth were various stuffed animals ranging from a fist-sized red frog to a toddler-sized Tweety bird. "Like those."

Bayly's face split in a grin. "Gloria would love that big yellow bird-like thing."

Regulus clapped him on the back, smiling himself. "Yes, she would. Like I said, they cheat. I can stand off to the side and knock the bottles down as you throw."

"Let me try it alone first," Bayly argued, fishing in his pocket for the Muggle money Reg had provided them. It wouldn't be a real victory if he had help winning a gift for Gloria, after all. He looked down at the bills; they all meant nothing to him. "How much is it?"

Regulus slid one of the bills out of the stack. "That much. Good luck!" _You'll need it._ He looked at Draco, who was frowning as he stared into space; no one was supposed to be so serious at a carnival! "What's wrong?"

"Just thinking about that stupid demon amulet from Aunt Bella's vault," replied Draco, jolting back to reality. He thought he'd caught a flash of black mist floating barely out of his line of sight. To his consternation, the habitually jolly Black stopped talking and turned a ghastly pale green. "Are you alright?"

His voice rising to an uncharacteristic squeak, Reg answered, "You didn't read the writing on it, did you?"

"Well, yeah—not on purpose, it _made_ me!" Draco returned defensively. Although it had left, he felt like it was still hanging around, like it wanted something from him. "And how did you know about reading it?"

"My parents knew it was in Uncle Cygnus' vault, they used to talk of it in hushed voices, so naturally I listened in," explained Regulus in a wholly unabashed manner. To Draco's expression of surprise he said, "What? Like you never listened to private conversations? The point is, it's an obscenely dangerous object."

"So I gathered," retorted his friend. He found himself edging toward the game Bayly had begun to play. "Okay, Mr. Smarty-pants, now that I've called up the demon, how do I get rid of it for good?"

The other lad shrugged. "I don't know _everything_. You shouldn't have been playing with it."

Draco rolled his eyes. When had Regulus morphed into his father? "Yes, I know. Believe me, I know." The burning welts on his arse wouldn't let him forget for at least another day or two, and he counted himself lucky his father had gone easy on him, only seven or eight whacks with that bloody cane.

All at once he pointed at Bayly, who'd lunged across the counter to grab the carnie's shirt and was shaking him roughly as he shouted at him. A small group of people had stopped to gather round and watch the spectacle. Before more carnival workers could arrive as reinforcements, Regulus groaned and pulled Draco along with him into the thick of it. Had he not specifically warned Bayly about cheating? He winced when Bayly let loose a punch to the jaw that knocked the worker hard backward into his stacked bottles and—surprise, surprise—two of them failed to fall over.

Bayly jumped the counter in one leap to stand over the man lying in the dirt. With his fist raised for another blow he barked, "Give me my prize!"

The man rubbed a nervous hand over his stubbly chin. If his coworkers didn't show up soon, this kid was going to kick the shit out of him; he'd seen the type before. He staggered to his feet, snagged a Tweety bird and thrust it at the youth. "Get outta here—and don't come back!"

"My pleasure," retorted Bayly, looking somewhat less tough with a huge-headed yellow bird clasped under one arm. He slid back over the counter to meet Regulus and Draco. "You're right, Reg, this place is fun!"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

The odor—or lack of it—was the first thing Bayly noticed when he entered the Potions lab. He'd left the carnival early, despite Regulus' protests that it was so much 'cooler' at night, in order to help Professors Conn and Snape restock the infirmary with various balms and brews. Strangely, the one Miss Conn was currently standing over didn't seem to give off any smell; in a place rife with herbs and assorted other pungent items, it seemed odd indeed.

"Good evening, Professor Conn," he smiled. "What are you making?"

"Hi, Bayly. It's Veritaserum. Have you ever seen it brewed before?" Aline waved him over and he cautiously looked into the cauldron at the clear, colorless liquid that rose in one great bubble in the middle of the cauldron, sank low, and repeated. "Bayly, there's something I need to tell you and I don't think it right to wait. Severus and I eloped yesterday morning."

If she'd anticipated hearty smiles of joy, she was disappointed. Bayly's entire being registered shock and confusion as he lifted his face to her, his mouth worked as he searched for the appropriate words. He swallowed and blinked a few times. "I see. Congratulations. So, I take it you won't be at the wedding—there is still going to be a wedding, right?" he asked in a barely audible voice, suddenly terrified that without Snape the whole thing was to be called off.

"Of course the wedding is still on," Aline responded. The boy's expression and demeanor screamed dejection, giving rise to another rush of guilt in her. "We'll be there, simply not as one of the couples getting married."

Obviously agitated yet trying to hold it in check, Bayly murmured in a level tone, "That wasn't the deal. You shouldn't promise something if you're not going to carry through with it. That's not fair."

In a display of affectionate friendship, Aline laid her hand atop his. "Bayly, we didn't elope to upset you, there were extenuating circumstances. Besides, I thought you might even be happy that you and Gloria have a day all your own. You deserve it."

"Maybe we didn't want the day to ourselves." He wrenched his hand away from her. His voice sounded tight and forced from the clenched jaw. "I have to go. Congratulations again."

He spun and rushed for the door, nearly bumping into Severus who'd entered a moment sooner. He didn't bother to greet the man or to excuse himself, both of which were entirely foreign to the boy with Durmstrang-inspired manners, and loped down the corridor like the devil was after him.

Severus stared after him, perplexed. "Why is he angry?"

Aline got up from her stool, came to meet him, and wrapped an arm round his waist. Her sad brown eyes gazed up at him and back to the empty doorway. "It's not anger I sensed in him. It's betrayal."


	82. Humpty Dumpty

Death Eater No More—Chapter Eighty-Two ( Humpty Dumpty )

An evening breeze had begun to stir the leaves of the trees, a quiet, tranquil rustling that ordinarily Bayly would have enjoyed. Seated on the wooden porch railing, one leg drawn up and the other dangling onto the floorboards, he stared out into the front yard oblivious to the wind caressing his face and blowing his short, fair hair. He hadn't been home much since his father's death, mainly because he simply couldn't deal with his mother's profuse displays of guilt over the torture he'd endured at the hands of her lover. Thought she'd been getting better about it, he still preferred to stay at Hogwarts for the summer to facilitate his mentoring in Potions.

One sole thought threaded through his brain in a relentless loop: what a fool he'd been. It was evidently for the best that he wouldn't be staying at Hogwarts anymore, and once he married he couldn't if he wanted to—which at this moment he did not. Dolohov had been right, he was a pathetic idiot to ever believe in people; they say what you want to hear, then stab you in the back. The closer you let yourself get, the more it hurts. Right now he'd choose the whippings or fists or even the Cruciatus over the throbbing ache in his chest.

Maybe he should have been more attentive to his father's lessons…it would have earned him fewer beatings, and more wisdom. At least he knew where he stood with Dad, there had never been any pretense. He'd let himself accept that Professor Snape cared for him more than just as a student or apprentice, and it was his own undoing. Snape may have been the only adult wizard who'd ever made him feel like he was special in any way, but that didn't make it true, did it? Being Dolohov's bastard son made him exactly the opposite of special!

_But he said it! He said I'm like a son to him!_ Bayly's mind insisted. It felt like a knife twisting in his heart. Why had Snape lied to him, let him think… Hot tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision. He wiped them away with a rough jerk of his sleeve.

Suddenly there was movement across the lawn, a darkly garbed figure striding over the grass in the dusky light. Although surprised, Bayly didn't draw his wand, he didn't need to; he'd set up the security barrier his father had compelled him to learn, it would allow neither people nor hexes to penetrate it unharmed. When he saw who the approaching man was, his mouth pinched into a tight line and he stood up.

As he walked toward the house Severus observed the boy, noted the instant the lad noticed, then recognized him. This secluded farmhouse saw little traffic, Bayly apparently had not been expecting company. He'd got within three meters of the porch when his leg struck an invisible magical barrier; sparks flew in every direction, singing his clothing. A wry smile touched his lips. It wasn't the first time he'd seen such dangerous and illegal networks, webs of dark spells interwoven to create a ward capable of rendering an intruder unconscious, or even of stopping the heart if the intruder persisted in advancing. This was not the handiwork of a simple witch like Ms. Young, nor of a typical teenage boy…unless said boy had been coached by an older, experienced dark wizard.

"Hello, Bayly."

"Sir." Young made a perfunctory bow out of habit. "May I help you?"

Severus' hawkish gaze took in everything, including the rigid, unwelcoming posture; his ears were unaccustomed to the aloof, almost bitter tone in Bayly's voice. It startled him to realize that it bothered him considerably more than he'd like to admit. "Aline told me you feel I betrayed you. Would you care to elaborate?"

"Not particularly," answered Bayly coolly, his face astonishingly blank for one who'd not had years of practice at hiding his emotions. "I'd stand clear of the security shield if I were you."  
A light snort of derision escaped Severus. So that's how he wanted to play, was it? "Do you honestly think I couldn't dismantle this network in a matter of minutes?"

"I'm sure you could. Voldemort taught his star pupils well." _Star pupils._ The biting comment hurt and angered Snape on a level he refused to acknowledge. Seemingly indifferent to his cutting remark, Bayly crossed his arms and leaned against a support post. "Be my guest."

Challenge accepted. Severus hadn't come all this way out here to talk through a security fence to a contrary little twit with a bee in his bonnet! From his wrist carrier his wand snapped into his hand. He cast a few revealing spells that made the grid glow and crackle in a dozen strands of yellow, blue, green, and orange filaments that slid effortlessly among one another in a beautifully woven web that oscillated around the house. Notwithstanding his irritation at the kid, he grudgingly admired the skill required for such a task.

He stared down, carefully studying the lattice as it circled and flowed, searching for the one point at which all the strands met. It was here they could be broken with a single command, far easier than trying to reverse each spell individually, especially when he didn't know for certain what charms had been used. His eyes flitted to and fro, seeking his target, and he walked back and forth around the house without a pause in concentration. His patience paid off: there it was, a pinpoint of pulsating light amidst the colors. Severus aimed his wand, a jet of red slammed into the pulsing point, and the whole ward crashed down loudly.

Stepping across the now safe space, he mounted the stairs to look at Bayly face to face. "What have I done to make you cross with me?"

"You mean _besides_ lying to me?" Try as he might, Bayly wasn't strong enough to hold that eerily icy glare coming form the wizard's fathomless black orbs. He averted his own hazel eyes to the yard as his heart fell to where his stomach ought to be and he clenched his jaw so hard it ached.

"Excuse me?" Severus barked, making Bayly jump. "When did I ever lie to you?"

Snape had to be kidding, right? How could he not know the answer to that? It was enough that the professor had misled the boy, now he had the audacity to feign innocence! Bayly lifted his head, his expression absolutely indignant, his voice rising with emotion as he dove in head first, consequences be damned.

"How about when you said you thought of me like your son? If that were true, you wouldn't agree to a double wedding ceremony, then run off and elope! You _knew_ what it meant to me to think you'd share the most special day of your life, but it obviously meant nothing to you! Yes, I know, it's my fault for believing you. Life has taught me not to trust, but I never learn because I'm _stupid_!"

He spun away before the tears started in his eyes again. His display of weakness made him despise himself—that and the fact that the one he really wished he could hate was standing beside him, and he was incapable of detesting him. Snape had done so much for him—hell, he'd saved his life…he was Bayly's hero. How could he hate his hero?

"Are you quite finished with your rant?" drawled Severus. He didn't expect an answer, nor did he get one. "The reason Aline and I eloped had nothing to do with you, it was a personal problem with Mrs. Conn. I did not lie to you, Bayly." He took the lad by the shoulder and turned him round to face him; his hand held Bayly in a bruising grip and his prominent nose came close enough to brush the tip of the youth's nose.

Young made a token effort to free himself before shrugging. "Whatever you say."

"No, not whatever I say! The truth!" Severus gave Bayly an exasperated shake—not hard, but enough to get his attention. "You are not stupid to trust me. It was thoughtless of me not to consider our pact when I suggested elopement. In my own defense, you'd have done the same thing to spare Gloria heartache. I know you would because you adore her; don't condemn me for harboring similar sentiments toward Aline."

Bayly's features softened and he got a concerned, curious look. Despite their argument, and all things considered, he liked Aline very much and could not wish ill on her. "What happened that was so bad?"

"How much time do you have?" replied Severus with a crooked grin. He sat down heavily on the porch, his feet planted on the top step. "Have a seat and I'll explain everything, son. And I do mean _son_."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

It was well past twilight when Severus pushed open the door to his quarters. He expected Aline to be in the lab, where he planned to head after composing his thoughts; so much information to process, so much pain to assimilate on the part of Bayly, Aloysius, and Eleanor. If nothing else, at least his lengthy stint with Voldemort had taught him to keep his guard up at all times, to automatically shield his emotions, and that skill constantly came in handy.

Thinking himself alone, naturally he was surprised when Aline walked out of the bedroom upon hearing him enter. "Severus, you're back." The joy lighting her eyes made his heart skip a beat. "Did you speak to Bayly?"

"Yes, we've sorted it out." Snape padded across the thick green rug to meet her and tenderly kiss those exquisitely wonderful lips. As much as he'd like to postpone the inevitable and merely hold the witch in his arms, he murmured, "Aline, I need to discuss something with you."

"Me, too," answered Aline somberly, backing up but holding on to his arms. She seemed to have a difficult time meeting his eyes, and she nervously chewed her bottom lip.

The first thing to come to Severus' mind was that she'd found out about her mother. He fervently hoped she hadn't discovered his duplicity in not telling her what he knew himself. In a nonchalant tone that made him feel like a two-faced bastard, he asked, "Is there something bothering you, honey?"

Aline took him by the hand and led him to the sofa; she eased herself down beside him, her body angled toward his, eyes steadfastly adhered to her lap. "Please don't be mad at me, Severus. I'm not sorry I married you, I swear I'm not, it's just…it seems unfair to my family and yours, to our friends. They've waited a very long time to see either of us tie the knot, and we've deprived them of that one chance." She looked up at him and squeezed his hand, hoping he'd understand.

"Does this have anything to do with Bayly?" inquired Severus, his expression not giving away anything.

"Yes—and no. Even before he let me know it hurt him not to go through with the ceremony, I'd…" She shrugged helplessly as she fiddled with a loose string on the sleeve of his robe. "Would you be upset if I asked you to marry me again?"

A smile spread over his face, touching even the ordinarily inscrutable black eyes that wandered lovingly over his bride. One hand lifted her chin. "I was going to ask you the same thing. I must confess, I…_may_ have peeked into your mind a time or two, I've seen how you looked forward to a grand church wedding with your family and friends. I feel as though I've cheated you out of your dream. Then seeing how forlorn Bayly appeared, and—anyway, I would be honored to wed you in front of the world."

Throwing her arms around his neck, Aline relaxed against the man's chest, content in his love. No matter how this wedding turned out, she'd always have beautiful memories of the elopement. They'd have to be sure to notify the Malfoys and Bayly, make sure there'd be no problems and that no one else found out the truth. "What was it you wanted to talk about?"

"Nothing, my dear. We already have."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

_The Malfoy ballroom was gaily decked in red poinsettias, mistletoe, bows and trappings, green streamers hung from the ceiling, and in the middle of the room a colossal Christmas tree trimmed with expensive glass baubles from France, miniature faux cardinals charmed to chirp and flutter, and winking with real candles set on the boughs._

_ Draco resisted the urge to sneer, though his face did crinkle in dismay. Peering up at the fifteen foot tree, he quipped, "This is…interesting, Mother, but shouldn't you be adorning the place for the __wedding__?"_

_ He turned his back on the tree to face his parents. As was par for the course, Narcissa had seated herself across Lucius' lap, her arms around his neck and his about her waist, and they were snogging like teenagers in the back row of a theatre._

_ "Mother!" demanded Draco._

_ "Watch that tone, boy," Lucius growled, tearing himself from his wife's kiss for only as long as it took to deliver his directive._

_ Rolling his eyes and sighing like a martyr, Draco tried a different approach. "I understand the Minister of Magic will be here, along with scores of your associates, Father. Of course they'll bring their wives, who tend to be gossiping busybodies, and I can only imagine what they'll say about Mrs. Malfoy having inappropriate, unseasonal decorations. Mother is always top notch for impeccable taste and decorum…"_

_ That did the trick. It was almost too easy, and Draco smirked as Narcissa rolled off her husband. Her baby bump seemed to have grown to the nine month stage rather quickly. "Lucius, dear, I can't have people talking behind my back. I'll have to redo the whole ballroom—and you'll have to help me or I'll never finish in time!"_

_ Lucius glowered at his son as he slowly stood up. "Thank you, Draco. You're exceptionally conscientious today. I'll remember that." Then he strolled over, wand out, to help Narcissa tear down the unsuitable arrangement._

_ Thinking it wise not to antagonize further, Draco whirled and started to leave when he noticed his brother off in the corner by himself playing with a jumble of wooden blocks. He smiled as he watched the tiny child's chubby hands dexterously stacking them into various sized towers. The tot was a Malfoy alright, handsome and clever, industrious…_

_ Draco moved in closer and his smile became a dumbfounded gape bordering on alarm. Should a seven-month-old be able to spell out words? And sentences? Were it not for the context of the message, Draco might have written the event off as an anomaly or due to the child's sheer brilliance._

_ In a row from left to right facing Draco, the stacked blocks read: SPEAK YOUR WILL. An involuntary shudder ran down his spine. Where had he heard that phrase only recently?_

_ Ladon peeked up at his brother from his seated position on the floor. In his sweet baby voice he said, "Draco, I'm tired of playing with blocks. I want that new toy—the one in Father's vault."_

_ "W-what?" sputtered Draco, feeling like he'd taken a kick to the stomach. "When did you learn to talk?"_

_ "Go get it, hold it in your hand," cajoled the diminutive puppet master._

_ "No. Father locked it away because it's dangerous," Draco responded. This was not normal, he should call out to his parents._

_ In an instant Ladon had screwed up his face as a prelude to piercing squalls. "Don't you love me?"_

_ "Don't be silly, of course I do." The older lad bent down to pick up the tyke and rock him soothingly. If his parents heard the tantrum, surely they'd find a way to blame Draco for it. "It's not safe."_

_ "I won't touch it," cooed the imp, smiling at Draco with all four of his baby teeth showing. "You can be more powerful than Father, you can have an army, or unlimited magic. All you have to do is hold the amulet and wish for it."  
_

_"No!" Draco lurched backward, simultaneously pitching Ladon forward onto the floor. He struck with a solid thud. "You're not my brother, get away from me!"_

_ Before his astounded eyes the baby grew to a toddler and stood up, his grey eyes flashing with absolute malignancy. His formerly cherubic smile had devolved into a cruelly twisted mouth. "Everyone gives in eventually. And when you do, I claim Ladon as my price."_

Draco woke up gasping for breath, his face coated in a cold sweat. Panting with utter horror and desperation, he sat up looking wildly around the room. It was his room, dark and quiet, no sign of little Brax or their parents. A dream, it was only a dream. He bent forward, head in his hands, waiting for his heart to resume a normal rhythm and the sickness in his stomach to calm.

No, he may have been fool enough to inadvertently call up this demon, but he wasn't entirely witless. That hadn't been a dream any more than Draco was King of England! It was calling him, pressing him to make his request…at which time it would seize the price of its choosing: Ladon. It wanted Ladon.

Draco rushed to bend over the edge of the bed only a second before his supper heaved onto the rug. When his gut had wrung every vestige of liquid out of his mouth and his stomach convulsed unproductively, he sat up wiping the back of his hand over his lips. It was time to grow up, to show his true mettle. Whatever it took, he would not give in to his selfish, imbecilic impulses again. Whether that beast meant to murder his brother or to poison his soul was irrelevant, because Draco would not allow it. He would fight and die before he let anything hurt Brax!

He got off the bed and pulled on his robe. Taking his wand, he cleaned up the puddle of vomit. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath before flinging open his door and striding out into the hallway. The sensation hit him in a wave from the direction of Lucius' library, a strong pull beckoning him to come, and he so very much wanted to follow the call.

Instead he headed toward his parents' room, then he stopped in his tracks. What was he doing? He couldn't wake them in the middle of the night to tell them something so dreadful! It could wait till morning when Father could contact Severus and have him secure the amulet at Hogwarts, where the Headmaster had the ability to invoke the special magic of the castle to keep the damnable thing out of reach.

Meanwhile, he had business with that demon. He stomped down the hall and burst into the library, only to recoil at the misty black blob pulsing in front of the safe. For the briefest moment, all his resolve faded. All he had to do was lift his wand and utter _confringo_; the safe would explode open, the amulet would be free. His hand trembling, he raised the wand. The demon shivered as though laughing at him.

"You dare use my brother to get to me," Draco seethed. "You will never get him—or me!" He thrust the tip of the wand against his chest and muttered, "_Petrificus totalus_." His head barely missed the corner of the desk as he fell to the floor, stiff as a board—and physically incapable of bending to the will of the demon.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Lucius really, sincerely was not interested in decorating for the reception. That was Narcissa's department, he was happy to leave it to her. Nonetheless, his beloved wife had coerced him with smooches and tantalizing caresses, so here he was in the ballroom watching her direct her helpers—Jack and Glenna, Jacinta and Theo, Julius and Tina and their families. Honestly, the place had turned into a madhouse with the children shouting and running, the elves trying to please the guests and help Mistress Malfoy at the same time, people bumping into each other as they worked. And they had not yet begun to construct the church replica in the back garden!

To say he was distressed to receive notice from Sisidy that there was a 'situation' on the front lawn would be putting it mildly. He excused himself and apparated to the front door with Sisidy right beside him clinging to his leg for dear life as he wrenched open the door and stormed out. He got exactly two paces before halting to gape at the pair of enormous white winged horses prancing and pawing none too delicately on his pristine lawn. Astride one horse sat Luna Lovegood, smiling in that esoteric, vacant way that always made him uncomfortable. The other horse was ridden by a tall, handsome dark haired man with a clipped beard and black robes similar to a riding outfit.

Tanassov caught sight of Lucius and smiled broadly. "Mr. Malfoy, we have arrived."

"Evidently," Lucius uttered under his breath, walking down the steps and hiding his dismay. Where was he going to house these animals? "Hello, Dimitar. Thank you for coming early. Miss Lovegood, you are always welcome here."

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Malfoy," Luna nodded. Lucius couldn't tell if she was being snide, having been kept prisoner here in the cellar for quite a while during the dark lord's reign of terror. Surely she understood he'd not been the one responsible, it had been Voldemort's doing.

One hand reached out to appreciatively stroke the muzzle of Tanassov's horse; it whinnied softly and buried its nose in his chest. "What gorgeous creatures."

"Indeed they are," agreed Tanassov, swinging his leg over and hopping to the ground. The back of the horse reached the top of his brow, its wingspan Lucius estimated to be no less than twenty feet. "I beseeched some veelas I know to allow me to borrow them for a few days. They are to carry the wedded couples to their honeymoon destinations, and will return home on their own."

Lucius resisted a strong urge to smirk. While it may be a fair sentiment to present the animals as beasts of burden for the couples, Lucius held no illusions that Tanassov did this in a strictly altruistic sense. The adulation of Miss Lovegood beaming down at the Durmstrang Headmaster like a knight of old was a sight any man in love would thrill in; he'd pulled out all the stops to impress the girl. It was very sweet, actually—and something Lucius himself might have done with Narcissa if he'd had access to such glorious horses.

Tanassov had gone around to Luna. He reached up both strong hands to encircle her waist and plucked her off the horse as if she weighed no more than a feather. Her bare feet touched the warm, soft grass and her toes curled into it with delight as she gazed adoringly up at her man. Although a bit windswept, her thin white dress wrinkled, she was the picture of tranquility. The two stood inches apart, eyes fixed on one another for a long moment.

"If I may intrude," Lucius said. He waited for the trance to be broken and the pair turned their heads in his direction. "We have not housed horses on the property since I was a boy—and nothing of this stature. We do, however, have the framework of an old stone stable that was, regrettably, torched during Voldemort's stay here. It will afford adequate shelter for the animals if you are amenable, and my elves will see to it they receive the finest food and grooming."

"That sounds perfect," Tanassov replied, taking Luna by the hand and leading her over to Lucius. "If you show me the way, I shall get Humpty and Dumpty settled in."

"Humpty and Dumpty?" repeated Lucius, grinning.

"Luna likes to name things," the Bulgarian smiled back. He winked at Luna. "If you like, I will be ready within the hour to go to Hogwarts to view this amulet of yours."

"Not mine," Lucius countered more sharply than necessary. "I'll notify my comrades to meet us there." With any luck, Tanassov would know what to do. Unfortunately, luck seemed to be a scarce commodity of late.


	83. The Banishing

Death Eater No More—Chapter Eighty-Three (The Banishing)

(**A/N**: I apologize, my dear readers. Last chapter I meant to indicate that Lucius found Draco, reversed the spell, and contacted Severus, who took the amulet to Hogwarts for safekeeping. Several days passed before Tanassov and Luna arrived on the winged horses on August 23.)

**August 23, 1999**

By the time Lucius, Draco, and Tanassov floo'd into Severus' office at Hogwarts, the other members of their group were waiting patiently, albeit with anticipation. As owner of the amulet, Dolph discovered he felt rather guilty over the events that had transpired with his nephew; he sat on Snape's desk, one leg draped over the edge tapping the stone floor repetitively at precise intervals. _Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._ Rabby and Marshal were standing beside the pensieve after viewing a memory of one of their Death Eater meetings, and arguing over whether they could have disposed of Voldemort if they'd banded together. Rabby maintained the dark lord would have sensed their rebellion, while Marshal insisted brute force en masse would have sufficed. Snape had his head in his hands, eyes shut, quietly massaging his temples.

The floo sprang to life and Lucius walked in with Draco. He waved his wand to remove any soot and greeted his old friend with, "We're not late, are we?"

"Merlin's ghost, another five minutes and I'd have been tempted to implement a murder/suicide pact," grumbled Severus, rising from his chair. "I thought you were bringing—"

His comment was cut off by the floo's _whoosh_. Tanassov strode out, halted in place to gauge his surroundings, then approached the desk to shake hands with Snape. "It is good to see you again, Severus, circumstances notwithstanding."

"Likewise," answered Snape. He gestured to his right. "This is Wendolph Goodman, the man the object in question belongs to." Their comrades advanced on them from across the room, and he continued, "That's Wallace Marshal and Wendolph's brother Jorab."

Tanassov dutifully nodded and shook hands, though at the mention of Jorab's name he suppressed an amused smile. He looked at Lucius when he said, "I was under the impression the talisman belonged to you."

"Is that of any importance?" replied Lucius, his eyebrows raised.

"It might be. May I see it?"

Snape unlocked and opened the bottom drawer of his desk, removed the amulet, and set it on the desktop. All the men crowded around staring down at the seemingly innocuous article; only Tanassov recoiled involuntarily, his dark eyes troubled, his lips pinched.

"Do you know what it says?" inquired Rabby, observing his reaction.

"Even if I knew the words, I would not repeat them," Tanassov responded, instinctively making the hand sign to ward off the evil eye. "This is a malignant spirit amulet—it is family-bound, blood-bound, as I suspected."

"Meaning what?" asked Dolph.

"Meaning it was trapped in this marble probably centuries ago by your ancestor. It can be summoned by anyone, but only banished and destroyed by blood descendants of the creator."

"Tell me what to do and I'll do it," interjected Draco, wand in hand. Before Tanassov could object that it must be done by a Goodman, he explained, "It first belonged to my Aunt Bella, my mother's sister—it comes from the Black family."

There was a thoughtful pause as the Bulgarian pondered the situation. At last he said, "You were born a Malfoy. The half-blood status may not be enough."

Severus smirked openly as Lucius, cheeks tinged pink, gasped and glowered at the half-blood remark. It was about time a Malfoy got a taste of what it felt like to be 'not good enough'!

"Mr. Tanassov," Draco continued, leaning forward, hands on the desk. He failed to notice the way his father studied him and the accursed amulet as if ready to yank the boy back from temptation if necessary. "The demon said it requires a price…it said it wants my brother. Why would it want to kill a baby?"

"Kill him?" Tanassov echoed, cocking his head in puzzlement. "It is far more likely it wishes to _inhabit_ the child in order to move and live among people."

The horrified expressions all around the room, portraits included, were not lost on the Durmstrang Headmaster. He tried to soften his tone to sound more comforting, with marginal success; straightforwardness was in his nature, yet stealing the body of a child was no insignificant thing, their dismay and revulsion were justified.

As gently as he could manage he said, "These demons always select a price very dear to the summoner, which is why most families in possession of such amulets hide them away…they don't know how to dispose of them safely. The object must be destroyed as soon as possible, but it cannot be done by magical means." He shuddered at the remembrance of stories of the devastation wrought on those who'd attempted magical demolition of such objects.

"Can I say something?" All eyes turned to Marshal. "Why don't we just smash the thing? I had to work in a Muggle butcher shop for months—thanks again, Lucius—and I found they get things done just fine without magic."

Lucius fixed him with a half-lidded, cautionary glare. "Which part of 'can only be destroyed by blood descendants' escapes you? While I realize you're working with a limited capacity, you might try to focus those dozen or so brain cells to the task at hand."

"Lucius." Severus covertly nudged him in the ribs, murmuring under his breath. "Sowing discord is not helping."

"So what do we do?" Dolph crossed his arms and looked at Tanassov. "My wife is dead, she is in no position to assist us."

Tanassov inclined his head in a nod of sympathy, then heaved a sigh. "I need to consult a few of my colleagues, make absolutely sure of the ritual before we proceed. If I am correct, we will need four individuals born to the Black name…will this pose a problem?"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

The evening sky lit with a jet of blue flame hurtling toward a woman at the edge of a forest. She flicked the hex aside as a yellow curse sailed by, barely missing her elbow. She laughed and scampered behind a tree, her head poking out, brown eyes searching the grounds for her foes. They'd moved positions already, that was a given. Nonetheless, she cast a series of spells at both of the initial points of attack while running for cover behind a large shrub.

A soft footfall to her left made the hair on the back of her neck rise. Without warning she spun, dropped to one knee, and shot a silent _stupefy_; one of her assailants fell like a log onto the ground, causing her to gloat just a bit too long; from the right another curse would have hit her square in the back had it not been diverted by a third party who immediately fired a vicious spell that knocked the attacker off his feet and left him panting and wheezing on the ground.

Severus stalked rapidly forward and grasped Aline by the bicep to pull her up, his face contorted with fury and worry, his wand at ready in the other hand. "Are you alright, love?"

"Yes, I'm fine." Aline shook the hard grip off and massaged her arm briefly while approaching the wizard her husband had nailed with his curse, assessing the damage as minimal before peering up accusingly at Snape. "Why did you do that? You could've hurt him!"

Now that Severus was close enough to see that Aline's attackers were none other than Abigail and Alonzo, he felt slightly foolish. Aline had told him that the siblings had enjoyed this game of hunters and hunted since they were children, and played it whenever they were together. How was he supposed to remember that teensy detail when he saw the witch being assailed right here on the school grounds?

A bit miffed that she'd not seen fit to inform him she'd be playing—nor to invite him along—Snape huffed, "Well, forgive me for protecting my wife! I failed to realize that was a crime."

Aline helped her brother to his feet and let him lean on her for support while he regained his strength. No longer angry, she smiled wryly at Severus. "I appreciate it, sweetheart. I'm not so sure I can say the same for Lonny."

There was a stirring off to the side as Abigail sat up shaking her head. "Nice one, Aline. You finally learned to shoot from the hip before I could get you."

"Oh, please! I've taken you down plenty of times," protested Aline.

"Who cares?" interrupted Alonzo, who was evidently feeling much stronger now. He glanced quizzically from his sister to Snape and back again. "Severus, did you just call Aline your _wife_?"

_Busted_. Aline started visibly and began to fidget nervously. Severus stood rock still, his blank features betraying nothing. Abby got up and joined the group, her mouth set in an 'O', her eyes searching out Snape's hand, but his pinkie ring was nowhere in sight. Curiously she faced her sister, who was a notoriously bad liar. "Aline, what's going on?"

Aline sidled up to Severus, who secured an arm round her shoulders and squeezed gently as if to say he'd follow her lead, whatever it may be. Everyone present was acutely aware that all Abby had to do was read either Aline or Severus to ascertain the truth, yet it was doubtful she would do so without permission: those Conns blessed with powerful clairvoyance were taught from an early age that it was rude and unseemly to read family members at will. Still, if the couple wished to retain goodwill among the family, it would behoove them to be honest.

"I suppose we owe you an explanation," Aline sighed. She gestured up at the castle. "It's pretty long and involved, why don't we go inside and have some coffee while we talk."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

**August 24, 1999**

"Aren't you going to make a move?" Regulus prompted as he sat hunched over the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place where a wizard chess game was in progress. Shards and rubble littered the board.

Harry studied the pieces then glanced at the closed door leading to the living room. Despite the barrier he could hear Daphne and Sirius heatedly discussing this amulet thing Reg had told him about. Without thinking he picked up a knight and plopped it down on a square.

Regulus pounced on the piece with his queen, her razor-sharp sword decapitating the poor horseman in a single swipe. "That was dumb! You're not even paying attention."

"Sorry, Reg, I can't concentrate. Not that I was ever very good at the game anyway," Harry replied. He got up, walked to the door, and flung it open. In a voice meant to carry he bawled, "Sirius, why are you being so stubborn?"

Daphne and Sirius wrenched their necks around to see Potter standing in the doorway. Momentarily discombobulated, Sirius retorted, "Why should I help Malfoy? She probably wants me to because she used to date him!"

Bristling, Daphne shoved Sirius in the chest. "I want you to help because Ladon is a tiny baby who's going to be taken over by a demon if you don't! What did Ladon ever do to you?"

Shamefaced and feeling about an inch tall, Sirius mumbled, "Nothing. I'll do it."

From the doorway, standing behind Harry, Regulus beheld the scene while forcing back a chuckle. It was hardly news to anyone who had a passing acquaintance with Sirius that the man was stubborn and logical arguments fazed him not at all. Reg had called in Daphne to argue on his behalf because—well, Sirius never listened to his brother, he thought of him as a dim-witted little kid. And Sirius had a thing for this Greengrass bird in a way Reg had never known him to feel about a girl. He simply did the math in his head, and it figured out perfectly; Sirius had agreed to the task…and surely he wasn't sorry for doing so, not with the pretty brunette cuddled in his arms telling him she was proud of him.

Regulus clapped Harry on the back as he passed by him into the living room. "Right then, we'd best be off, do some demon slaying before the wedding tomorrow. Not that you'll be there, Sirius, what with the way Severus hates you and all." He grinned and winked at Daphne with a mouthed _Thank you._

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Regulus and Sirius apparated on the front lawn of Malfoy Manor. Out back they heard a commotion that spurred them to hoof it around the house where they halted in wonder. There on the sprawling back lawn, seemingly accurate in every detail, was a precise, full-sized replica of the church where Narcissa and Lucius had been wed. Oh, certainly it was mostly of magical construction, not meant to last, but it looked every bit the real church. From inside emanated clanking and grinding sounds of things being moved about. The pastor of the church was wandering to and fro, aiming his wand now and again to correct some minor defect. He took note of the young men and waved them over.

"Are you here to assist with the pew arrangement? I'm nearly done with the building and windows, but—"

"No, sorry, Father," Sirius interrupted, holding his hands out palms up and shrugging. "We're looking for Cissy and Andy, our cousins."

"Do you mean Narcissa and Andromeda?" queried the priest. He pointed behind them toward the orchard. "I saw them go that way a few minutes ago."

The brothers thanked the man and headed off in the indicated direction. Regulus quipped as they tramped across the enormous expanse of lawn, "If you'd asked me, I could've told you where they were. Cissy said where to meet them."

"And you didn't see fit to share that information?"

Reg shrugged. "All you had to do was stay with me and we'd get there."

They trudged the remainder of the way in silence. It wasn't long before they spied a broad, flat boulder situated near the orchard; standing beside the rock were Narcissa and Andromeda, and behind them Lucius and Tanassov. When they were nearly upon the gathering, they saw the amulet set on the center of the rock.

Greetings were rather subdued, considering the circumstances. The brothers took positions on opposite sides of the boulder and knelt in the grass; their cousins filled in the spaces between them—Narcissa on the due north corner, Andy on the south, Regulus to the west, and Sirius to the east. Tanassov waved his wand and a piece of scroll appeared before each of them.

They picked them up, grimly read them over, then Sirius remarked dryly, "I think we could have managed without the cue cards."

"It must be done exactly according to formula," explained Tanassov, unperturbed. "A missing phrase or word out of turn could spell disaster."  
_Drama king_, Sirius thought insolently, though he clutched the parchment a bit tighter in his left hand.

Together the four stretched out their right hands and laid their fingertips on the cold amulet; a strange shock ran simultaneously up all their arms. Reading from the script Tanassov had provided, they intoned, "As the blood of our Black ancestor dictates, we command the demon of the amulet to appear before us without malice."

Mere seconds passed before a black mist descended over them and coalesced into the formless dark blob Draco had seen. It hovered millimeters above the amulet, bobbing and pulsing as if daring them to shout it away. It hissed, "What do my masters wish?"

Herein lay the trap, for more than once in the history of its binding the demon had witnessed this ceremony. Past participants had summoned the demon in hopes of banishing it; sadly for them, when they actually saw the demon, invariably one would misspeak, nullifying the banishment, or one would make a request, giving the demon its opportunity to demand a price. As per the original contract with the creator, no human was permitted to attempt the rite of exile more than once in a lifetime, making it difficult to find four members willing and able to take part.

The Black cousins steadfastly stuck to the text before them, as instructed by Tanassov before they'd begun. In unison they called out, "We four, representatives of our Black heritage, free you from the bondage of this marble. You will leave us and our descendants in peace."

Narcissa uttered, "Wind of the north."

"Wind of the east," Sirius chimed in.

"Wind of the south," said Andromeda.

"Wind of the west," Regulus finished.

Then together they continued, "Scatter this demon to the ends of the Earth, never to return. We so command it." On a cue from Tanassov, moving silently in the background, all four let go of the amulet at once.

With a shriek of rage the demon shot upward into the sky. When it had reached an altitude far above the trees, it dissipated into a mist once more, to drift harmlessly over the wood, and finally to disappear entirely. The four Blacks looked to Tanassov, all of them wary of speaking lest it was not yet finished. The Bulgarian smiled and nodded; his wand cut through the air again and four weighty metal hammers dropped onto the stone in front of them.

"It is gone, you have done well," Tanassov beamed. "Now crush the amulet that its remembrance vanish as well."

Narcissa didn't need to be told twice. She picked up a tool in both hands, lifted it high, and whacked it down hard on the talisman. One corner broke off. "That's for trying to harm my sons!" _Whack!_ "And that's for coming into my home!" _Whack!_ "And—"

"Give us a chance, too," Regulus implored her, smashing his hammer down so powerfully it sent bits of the marble skittering off the rock.

Sirius and Andromeda joined in, all of them taking turns in a frenzy of pounding the amulet into fine powder that blew away in puffs with the breeze. Lucius smiled lovingly at his wife as he watched her batter the article into a pile of sand. He adored her ferocity, her protectiveness toward those she loved, her feminine strength that pureblood men of old might have frowned upon. She was so very…perfect.

He peered into the sky and wondered idly where the demon had been forced to go. Probably a place where only Muggles lived—that would be sheer hell, indeed!

From the balcony of his room, Draco stood holding his brother and watching the ritual with both trepidation and exhilaration. On the one hand he feared it might fail, on the other he delighted in the hope of the demon's exile. When the demon rose and disappeared, he breathed a tentative sigh of relief as Ladon pointed and giggled. When the smashing of the amulet began, grateful tears stung his eyes. It was over, it was really over.

Ladon scrutinized his brother, running his tiny hands over Draco's face, tweaking his nose and pulling his hair. He slapped Draco gently and repeatedly on the cheek while chanting, "Day. Day."

Draco smiled tenderly at the tot and hugged him tight to his chest. "You said my name…more or less. I love you, Brax, you know that?"

Another smack landed on his nose. "Day!"


	84. The Wedding According to Chadwick

Death Eater No More—Chapter Eighty-Four (The Wedding According to Chadwick)

**August 25, 1999**

By 4 o'clock p.m. folks had begun to appear in the Malfoys' back yard, courtesy of the portkey invitations in the shape of rosebuds that blossomed as the guests landed on the cobblestone walkway leading to the remarkable facsimile of an actual stone church constructed specifically for this grand event. It was commonly understood that the Malfoys spared no expense for their loved ones, and everyone was also aware that Severus Snape was considered practically a brother by the Malfoy patriarch; Bayly Young's status as protégé to Lucius had become public knowledge as well. Hence, no expenditure was deemed too extravagant…a full-size edifice complete with spire and bell tower in the middle of the lawn, while raising a few astonished eyebrows, was rather to be expected.

Friends of the grooms—specifically Regulus, Filius Flitwick, Samson, and Floyd—greeted the arriving witches and wizards and showed them to their seats in the wooden pews, cracked with age exactly like their counterpart in the original building, but decorated with charming bouquets of live silver and blue roses to match the mounds of flowers ornamenting the place. Light pouring through the stained glass windows tinged the congregation in hues of gold, red, and aqua patches. The vaulted ceiling stretching to heaven echoed the ringing of the sonorous bell to announce the nuptials near at hand.

Chadwick Tolman, co-editor and lead reporter for the _Daily Prophet_ ever since Rita Skeeter had managed to get herself crystallized in amber and died, was one of the first to arrive and take up post in an aisle seat midway to the front for the best unobtrusive view all around. Naturally the very front sets of rows were reserved for families of the wedding party, some of the most important to watch for. He wiggled his rear, settling in, and cast a silence bubble around himself, then spelled his quill to hover at shoulder height, ready to record his every delectable syllable. Call him old fashioned, but unlike Rita he preferred his writing tool to transcribe what he actually _said_; the train of thought in note-taking was crucial, and he always went back to rewrite and alter things in his finished story. Reporters nowadays had grown so lax, relying on their quills to embellish their notes. Honestly, that part was half the fun of being a reporter!

Chadwick sighed his displeasure at his associates and began to narrate, "_Here in this stunning replica of the very Church of England cathedral where Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy exchanged their vows, an anxious audience gathers in anticipation of the event of the season. Who ever could have guessed the confirmed bachelor, former Death Eater-turned-spy Severus Snape, would finally find love and settle down like a normal person? Not that I'd call him __abnormal__, of course—certainly not to his face!"_ Chadwick sniggered to himself, enjoying his private joke. _"To add to the entertainment value—no, scratch that."_ The quill obligingly scribbled the last line out. Truth be told he hated weddings, hardly found them entertaining, and was only here because of the prominent citizens attached to this one.

As if using a sixth sense, his head snapped up at a pair currently being escorted to their seats by Flitwick, who looked especially diminutive trotting alongside to keep up. The bearded man, tall and commanding, walked erect with a confidence Chadwick had never experienced firsthand. He wore a red military style uniform with gold fastenings, black trousers, and shiny black boots that came halfway up his calves. A long, sheathed knife strapped to a cord on his belt swayed gently with his jaunty strides.

The wizard looked dangerous…and familiar. Where did he know him from? Talisman—no. Tallahassee—no! His mind flitted like a preschooler with ADHD. Merlin's beard, was there a requirement he'd missed the memo on? Were all Headmasters now black haired, ill tempered blokes? Yes, that was it!

_"Dimitar Tanassov, Headmaster at Durmstrang Institute and colleague of Severus Snape, strolls down the center aisle with his fascinating companion Luna Lovegood on his arm. More aptly, the girl skims the ground like a fairy dressed in a pale yellow, semi-translucent silk gown reminiscent of a summer sun fading in the sky. Her multi-colored sash cinched directly below her firm, supple breasts—strike that—evokes the spectrum of the rainbow while her hair, wreathed in glossy yellow flowers probably native to Bulgaria, paints the image of a sainted child. Rumor has it the young lady is part veela, and judging from her attire and demeanor—not to mention her sheer sex appeal—this reporter reserves the right to agree."_

Chadwick licked his lips unconsciously. He did so enjoy the sight of pretty girls, despite the fact that even in his youth none had ever deigned to notice a nondescript, plain man like himself. Being more than twice their age had its drawbacks as well. Even now he was garbed in bland tan robes that blended into his facial coloring, making his drab features all the less noticeable.

He dictated the details of the cathedral and Tanassov's outfit to the quill. For some reason the public liked to hear that drivel. After a quick glance around the guests and new arrivals, seeing no one of consequence to fawn over or write glowing reports about, he switched his concentration to the grooms and their best men who were wandering up and down the front of the church.

_"Snape looks uncharacteristically jubilant if I am to believe the information supplied by virtually anyone who's ever met the wizard. As I recall, last time I saw him his hair hung in greasy clumps around his pallid face, yet now it shines like black glass, tied back at his neck like a gentleman. What a difference a witch makes."_ Chadwick hesitated before going on. Snape was known to be…touchy. It might be in his best interests to edit that section thoroughly before publication.

"_Lucius Malfoy, Snape's best man and host of this event and the reception to follow, is known throughout Britain for his Death Eater past. I, for one, must assume any atrocities he committed in the name of Voldemort to be fairly benign, as he was acquitted by the Wizengamot. Hmm, benign atrocities…people being what they are, they may take that the wrong way. Ignore the subject altogether, this reporter refuses to delve into such topics at this time. _

_ Mr. Malfoy's philanthropy is well established in rebuilding Hogwarts, and in donating enormous amounts to St. Mungo's and various other charities. Perhaps I'll get to interview him later for a scoop on baby Ladon and the heir Draco."_ The last time he'd interviewed the man, he'd feared saying the wrong thing might earn him a whack from that bloody walking stick he habitually carried. Best to tread lightly.

"_Where was I? Oh, yes. The other groom, Bayly Young, is chatting in Bulgarian to Viktor Krum as if the two were old friends…which come to think of it, they probably are, seeing as Krum is his best man. My research has revealed that Young attended Durmstrang for years, and was on the Quidditch team there. Be that as it may, it seems a bit rude to prattle on in a language no one understands."_ (read: Tolman does not understand and cannot eavesdrop on) He wondered idly if Krum might grant him an interview. Being the celebrity Krum was, it would do a lot to draw reader attention.

Chadwick stopped chattering and ruminating upon noticing how rapidly the church had filled up in the past few minutes. In the front pew he spied a wizard he recognized only because of a pronounced resemblance to Snape, minus the prominent nose—evidently his brother Julius. Beside the man were his wife on one side and two small children on the other side. The elder, a mischievous looking boy of approximately seven, knuckled his younger sister on the head and said something Tolman couldn't quite catch. Julius turned on the boy with a patently Snape glower that made Chadwick flinch. A minute later Severus' sister Tina slid into the pew with her husband and three children, where they all began to whisper excitedly.

What's this? Chadwick's ears perked up and he almost sniffed the air like a hound. A scowling Snape had marched over to speak to an usher, a troubled-looking Regulus Black, the lad recently back from the dead! On instinct, Chadwick removed his silence charm to listen in more readily. If memory served, Snape and Black had once been friends…falling out arguments made good press.

"I did not make an overture at Jacinta!" Regulus insisted heatedly. "I gave her a platonic kiss on the cheek. Can I help it if Theo's insanely jealous?"

Ah, Theodore Nott, Chadwick's sometime assistant photographer! Chadwick silently thanked heaven the boy wasn't as prone to violence as his deceased sire or they may have all been killed!

He'd missed what Snape muttered under his breath, but Regulus went on, "I was friends with Theo's dad when we were younger—well, when you and Nott were younger, I was the same age as now. I'm not gonna mess with Nott's kid or yours!"

Darn, Snape seemed satisfied with the answer! He gave a nod and walked away. No fight, no story. Chadwick reinstituted his silence bubble and sulked quietly.

_"The mother of Bayly, Livonia Young, outfitted in a respectable yet simple and stylish grey dress, is coming up the aisle with her brother Romulus and his family. The groom takes his looks from his mother's side, no doubt of that. Her sapphire necklace and matching bracelet seem out of keeping for her means, though rest assured we know where they came from. Ms. Young keeps a low profile, understandable after what we've learned of the boy's father."_ He could do a whole piece on Dolohov alone, but that wasn't what he was here for. Now Romulus Young—recently he'd seen an article in the real estate section of the _Prophet_, a favorable article of course. Malfoy would not retain his services were he not skilled, intelligent, and discreet.

On the other side of the aisle, Dr. Livingston was speaking to his wife and two adolescent sons as the latter filed into the front row, all of them garbed in pristine new robes. If Chadwick didn't know better, he'd think the doctor exuded less enthusiasm than one might expect for the wedding of his only daughter. Then the doctor walked out to get ready for the service. Only moments later Aline's family made their entrance.

Though Chadwick had been diligently making notes of who was present, he gave singular attention to this group. "_The families of both brides have arrived looking splendid and happy. Dr. Livingston, personal physician to Narcissa Malfoy, will be walking his daughter down the aisle momentarily. The Conns from America are a special treat. Most people in the wizarding world are not so well read as myself, they may not realize that this ages-old pureblood family have been in the wandmaking business for over two hundred years in Salem—and much longer than that in Europe prior to their relocation. Their unique gift of clairvoyance is passed on through the generations, though regrettably it appears to have skipped our enchanting bride Aline, driving her to make a life outside the wandmaking trade as a Potions mistress."_

Had he added the word 'lowly' in front of 'Potions mistress', it could not have sounded more pitying, and he clucked his tongue and shook his head. Ah well, Snape was a Potions master so it all worked out for the best. They had something in common on which to build a life. Chadwick felt like a veritable font of wisdom.

"_Oh, oh, oh!"_ Chadwick squealed animatedly, jumping up and down. Look who had just come in—Harry Potter! He'd simply _have_ to finagle a meeting with him during the reception!

By now the entire cathedral was packed with family, friends, and associates. How had he missed seeing Mrs. Malfoy and her sons enter? They must have slipped through an entrance at the front. Chadwick observed Narcissa sitting beside Draco; Ladon was standing on the young man's lap, supporting himself by gripping Draco's robes in his teeny fists.

_"Narcissa Malfoy looks gorgeous, as always, in subdued teal robes that showcase her stunning blue eyes and the growing life inside her. Make a note to ask her when she's due. Isn't that cute? Ladon's little hunter green suit is exactly like his brother's, complete with silver trim at the sleeves and collar. Mrs. Malfoy has a faraway look in her eyes as she gazes at her husband; undoubtedly she's recalling her own wedding day."_ He nodded as if sagely agreeing with himself.

Narcissa brushed a hand over Ladon's wispy white-blond hair. Over the months it had thickened considerably, giving the tot a permanent bed-head look which while adorable, she tried to tame with water. Gels were too messy and sticky, and more than once she'd caught her son trying to lick it off his fingers after playing with his hair. Under no circumstances was she going to use magic on him for such a trivial purpose, not when Dr. Livingston had expressly told her that too much magic used on the baby could stunt his growth or be harmful in other ways.

She sighed in contentment and looked to the front of the church where Lucius winked at her. She'd begun to smile when an odor assailed her nostrils, transforming her face instantly. "Draco, I think your brother needs to be changed."

Chadwick duly noted all the important people he found in the area; he didn't recognize some of them, like the two directly in front of him. He'd fairly zoned out by the time the wedding march—played by a live string quartet—began. He jumped to his feet so quickly he slapped the floating quill, which ricocheted off the back of Dolph's head and bounced onto the floor, rolling to a stop between Rabby's feet. Both wizards turned to glare at the clumsy reporter, who grinned sheepishly.

"Sorry," he mouthed.

He motioned to the brothers by pointing down at their feet in silent supplication; Dolph grinned wickedly and pointed back in imitation of holding a wand and casting a spell. Chadwick gulped and ducked onto his hands and knees, scrambling under the pew. His fingers stretched, reaching for the quill he was unable to _accio_ due to the silencing charm around himself. When he'd almost got it, Rabby shifted his feet and the instrument was kicked right past Tolman under the pew behind him.

Thumping around, Chadwick changed position, thrust an arm out, and snatched up the quill just as Gloria came parading down the aisle with Dr. Livingston. The reporter jerked up his head with a loud 'crack' as it banged the underside of the pew.

"Shit," Chadwick hissed. He leaped up, rapidly firing off as many details as he could see of her dress—precious few, as all he got was a good look at her posterior sashaying away from him.

"_White dress, long veil and train, embroidery on the long sleeves…"_ Damn, that could describe almost every wedding dress he'd ever seen! He'd have to fill that in later when he got a decent view.

"_Gloria's father lifts her veil, kisses her on the cheek, and returns to his seat while Gloria steps up into the sanctuary beside Bayly. The young man's hazel eyes shine with adoration and wonder at the beauty of his bride, and I doubt he could stop smiling to save his life."_

Next came Mr. Conn with Aline, dressed exactly as she had been for her elopement in the eye-catching white silk dress that draped tastefully over her body and puddled at her feet, her hair arranged in a tight French braid. Rather than feeling nervous and guilty as she had on that day, she felt an overwhelming sense of elation and serenity. This day was not to be feared, but to be relished and savored, a splendid memory to be built upon with each passing moment.

Chadwick finished narrating the features of Aline's wardrobe before adding as an aside, "_As Miss Conn takes her place beside her groom, an unspoken secret passes between them and they smile. Snape looks much better when he smiles, he ought to do it more often. That badass scary look gets old. Aline is one fit woman. Of course, so is Gloria, only she's a bit young for my taste—don't write that!"_ The quill scratched off the last few comments. He rubbed at the back of his head where a bump was forming.

Somewhere in the middle of the service Chadwick drifted off. Seriously, was it his fault most weddings were incredibly mundane? They have the hour-long mass, they kneel a lot; add in the silence bubble that stifled most sound and it all added up to major boredom—and Lord only knows the nasty looks he'd get for dictating to the quill _without_ the silencing bubble! His own snorted snore jerked his head back, rousing him. Through heavy lidded eyes he noted the couples on their feet ready to exchange vows. Disgruntled, he leaned forward for a better view, careful to avoid the surly maniacs in front of him.

Viktor offered a ring to Bayly while Gloria's maid of honor, a dear friend from school, dropped the matching pinkie ring into her palm. At the same time, Lucius was giving Severus the entire engagement/wedding band of Aline's that had magically fused themselves into one when she wed the first time. Abigail, the matron of honor, grinned conspiratorially as she held out the serpent pinkie ring to her sister.

Chadwick removed an object the size of his thumb from his pocket, held it up to his eye, and zeroed in on the rings. _"Exquisite white gold, serpents slithering in opposing directions, both clenching a single emerald between them in their fangs. Oh, and a divine brushed gold studded with understated diamonds for the Young couple."_ He was so busy studying the bands he completely neglected to watch the exchange of vows, as if he needed to—he'd seen a hundred or more weddings as a juvenile reporter, he could describe the ceremony in his sleep. _"I take thee" blah blah blah, the priest magically binds the couples, blah blah._

The next thing he knew the couples were kissing and the crowd was applauding vigorously. Not wanting to stand out, he slid the telescope into his pocket and joined in clapping loudly, though no one could hear him. His quill, ever vigilant, transcribed '_clap clap clap clap'._

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The reception—NOT according to Chadwick

As a rule, receptions are the most fun after the first hour or so, when guests have had a little to drink and are more relaxed. This reception was no different. The dinner was, as expected, a variety of sumptuous entrees ranging from Cornish hens to steak to shark meat, with a plethora of side dishes to please any palate. Each individual filled out a preference card, and five minutes later Malfoy's elves (and a few imported to assist) had served the entire gathering. Champagne and any other requested drink flowed freely.

At the head table on a platform fastidiously decorated on one half in Ravenclaw blue roses, on the other half Slytherin silver roses, the couples sat beside each other. Next to them were their best men and women, along with their spouses—or in the case of Viktor, his date Hermione Granger. She nudged Viktor and whispered in his ear; he chuckled and stood up.

Using the _sonorus_ charm, he quickly quieted the ballroom. "My dear friends, ve all congratulate Bayly, Gloria, Severus, and Aline, who are near to our hearts. I vould like to toast them in the traditional manner." He raised his glass of champagne, and the crowd did the same. "_Taz godina boulka, dogodina lyulka!"_

So saying, he tossed back the drink to the laughter of Bayly, who rejoined, "I'll drink to that."

Viktor then addressed the couples again. "And the translation for those who do not speak Bulgarian: This year a bride, next year a cradle."

The audience erupted in cheers and laughter as they watched Gloria blushing furiously and giggling into her hands, and Aline's red-tinged cheeks as she boldly stood up, raised her glass, and emptied it in one gulp. As she sat down again, Severus pulled her close to plant a smooch on the lips, eliciting more cheers. Bayly was slyly whispering something to Gloria that made her blush more deeply and gasp in surprise, though the look she gave him implied she was ready and willing to get started on filling that cradle.

Lucius stood up next; he didn't need a charm to quiet the room. With profound affection in his eyes, he looked upon his 'brother'. "Severus, for many years Narcissa and I held out hope that you'd find a love worthy of you. We'd at last resigned ourselves to your bachelor state, and none were more delighted than we to find out Aline had captured your heart. She is more than your wife, she is your salvation from the life you once led. Never let yourself forget that. Bayly, when I was helping Severus to find you and free you, I never dreamed what an impact you would have on Severus' life and in the lives of my own family. We are all very proud and grateful to know you and to count you as a member of our extended clan. Gloria, Aline—welcome to the family, and my heartiest congratulations to all of you."

He lifted his glass along with everyone in the room and took a long draught, followed by a strong round of applause. As it died down he drawled, "Enough drama. Let the elves clear out these tables and let's dance!"

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The extra dance lessons Narcissa had given Severus were not in vain, they paid off handsomely during the wedding waltz. Not only did he not step on Aline's feet even once, or trip, or make a fool of himself, he actually managed a smooth, graceful performance that elicited an amazed expression of pride from his doting bride as well as astonishment from a good part of the viewing audience. He couldn't swear for sure, but it seemed his feet moved of their own accord when he was wrapped in the loving arms of Aline, the two in a world of their own. Come to think of it, they had never danced together before this, had they? Huh. Now she'd want to do it all the time! He wouldn't complain, though, it had been a pleasing experience. He bowed to Aline and took her hand to lead her from the dance floor.

Meanwhile, Bayly and Gloria's waltz had gone equally well, both having been coached from the time they were small children in anticipation of this moment; purebloods took such things rather seriously. Unfortunately, their questionably close embrace left them in a world of their own, too. Eyes closed, Gloria's head resting on Bayly's chest, they swayed together without the benefit of accompaniment once the waltz had ended.

Narcissa chuckled softly and poked a finger into Lucius' rib. "Look familiar, dear?"

His eyes twinkling, Lucius pulled his wife to his side. "I think it's brilliant. The boy loves her, she loves him…although perhaps I should fetch them."

"No, leave them be. They'll snap out of it once the band strikes up a new song," advised Narcissa, recalling her own wedding waltz. She'd been too in love to even feel nervous as hundreds of people looked on…how could she be nervous in Lucius' loving embrace?

They had only to wait a few moments before a new sound—Spanish in origin unless Narcissa missed her guess—began. A bolero! Sure enough, Mateo strode out onto the floor hand-in-hand with Tonia. In lieu of his typical Muggle jeans and t-shirt, he wore one of Lucius' butter soft, charcoal grey robes that looked tailor made for his physique. Tonia wore an emerald colored, sleeveless flowing dress that fell to her knees and swirled playfully with every step she took.

Mateo faced Tonia, suddenly dipping her over his arm so low her long wavy tresses brushed the floor in a strangely sensual way. She slowly rose up to stare him in the eye, both of their gazes locked on each other as if no one else existed. Together they embarked on a passionate journey of lithe, cat-like movements and exaggerated posturing, mingled with precise footwork and sultry arm motions. Mateo raised Tonia's hand over her head and spun her round several times on one foot before catching her and smoothly flowing into the next step, their bodies merging and moving apart in a rhythm like the ocean tide. No one joined in from the sidelines; all watched, enthralled, as the _sangristas_ worked their wiles on each other and the captivated audience.

Lucius turned to Narcissa and extended a hand, his eyebrows raising a millimeter. She loved dancing, and both of them were accomplished at many styles, including the one Mateo had requested. Narcissa smiled back at her husband and shook her head as one hand affectionately stroked her bulging abdomen. She'd have to pass on anything too strenuous for a while.

The dance ended to a rousing burst of spontaneous applause. Tonia and Mateo graciously bowed and exited the floor as a new tune started up and a number of couples, heated up by the provocative bolero, were raring to wear off some energy.

In his eagerness to drag Luna onto the dance floor, Tanassov jostled a bit forcefully through the crowd, used as he was to his students giving him wide berth. His shoulder struck another man and sent him reeling. Tanassov spun around, grabbed the man before he fell headlong over a table, and righted him on his feet. "Forgive me! Oh, I remember you! Jorab Goodman, is it not?"

"Yes," concurred Rabby, straightening his robes and feeling a little embarrassed. "Good to see you again, Tanassov." He couldn't stop staring at Luna, who evidently found something humorous about this conversation.

Luna cocked her head, smiling serenely and blinking innocently. "Your name is Jorab? Did you know in Bulgarian your name means 'sock'?"

"Um, no, I can't say I knew that," Rabby admitted, flushing. "Excuse me."

Luna shrugged in bemusement, though it didn't bother her really. All her life people had made hasty exits, she was used to it.

Dimitar stroked her milky white cheek with the back of one finger. "Luna, my dear, perhaps it is best if you do not make all your astute and endearing observations out loud."

"Why not?" asked Luna, peering up at him curiously with dreamy blue eyes.

"As a favor to me?" he replied lamely, unwilling to hurt her feelings by telling her she had less tact than he had…and he was renowned at school for his frankness. Grasping her hand firmly but gently, he led her onto the dance floor.

Nearly a full revolution of the ballroom later they came upon one of the small tables surrounded by a number of raucous young people, among them Regulus, Theo, Jacinta, and Floyd—and at the center Viktor and Hermione. Tanassov's brows dipped into an irritated 'V'. Viktor knew better than to stage drinking competitions at a wedding! Luna waved blithely at Hermione as she whirled by.

Dimitar could have let it go. It wasn't his responsibility, after all. Viktor was a grown man, no longer his student…yet the audacity to corrupt these youngsters who looked up to him—or to encourage them by taking part in _their_ game…he couldn't abide it, not at the wedding of a friend. On their second pass around the room, Tanassov slipped his wand into his hand, took rapid aim, and blasted the bottle of firewhiskey. It cracked in a ring along the bottom and flipped over, spilling its contents onto the table and onlookers. Wet and furious, Viktor jumped to his feet, his eyes searching out the culprit. When he saw Tanassov glaring back at him, daring him to make something of it, he bowed stiffly to the Headmaster and started to clean up the mess.

"What was that?" asked Harry, worming his way in next to Hermione, then dragging her off a few paces.

"I think it was Dimitar Tanassov," Hermione answered, waving her wand over her clothing. "He doesn't like to see his students, or ex-students, behaving inappropriately. Hi, Ginny."

"Hi, Hermione. You look great."

"Thanks. You, too." Awkward pause.

Ginny slung an arm round her friend, breaking the tension. "Hermione, you weren't my friend just because of Ron. We can still hang out and have fun, you need to live your own life. I'm not mad at you, no one is—not even Mum."

"And Ron's finally dating again," added Harry. "He misses you, but I think he really does see that it would never have worked between you."

There was a loud bumping crash as a table sailed into the wall, bounced off and splintered on the floor. All heads whipped toward the sound where Hagrid and the Beauxbatons Headmistress were twirling past, seemingly oblivious to the carnage left in their wake. When they got close to an occupied table, the witch and wizard leaped from their seats and ran, just in time to avoid Hagrid's humongous boot that scooped up the woman's chair and flicked it a dozen paces skittering on the floor.

"I'll go talk to Hagrid!" Hermione shrieked over the music and commotion. "Good to see you, Harry. You, too, Ginny. Let's meet up soon!"

As that left Harry free, there was only one thing left to do: offer his well wishes to Snape and Aline. He'd already spoken to Gloria and Bayly, now for the challenging part. Wending their way to the front of the room where Severus and Aline had paused to catch their breath between dancing and socializing, they came abruptly upon the pair.

"Professors! Congratulations!" Harry called out. When the two turned, Harry approached Aline for a quick hug. Despite his thorny relationship with Snape, he and Aline had gotten on very well. He hesitated, made as if to go for an embrace with Snape, correctly read the warning signs flashing like neon bulbs in a pub, and held out a hand instead.

"Congratulations from me, too!" echoed Ginny.

"Thank you so much, both of you," Aline responded, smiling warmly.

Severus cleared his throat. "Yes…thank you, Pot—Harry. Ginny. It's good of you both to come, I realize this locale doesn't hold fond memories for you."

Unused to such pleasantries from their former Potions master, Harry and Ginny grinned together like simpletons. "Well, have a great day!" said Harry finally, not really having any idea at how to proceed in a civil conversation with Snape. Then the two wandered off.

Severus sighed with a pained expression. "My love, have you any idea the things I endure to make this a glorious day for you? Potter almost _hugged_ me! And I would have had to _let_ him!"

Smirking playfully, Aline reached up to kiss his ear and cooed, "Poor baby, wouldn't that have been a disaster? Your grievance is duly noted. Tonight I can show you how much I appreciate your efforts."

It took a vast amount of will power not to grab her arse and squeeze. Severus wrapped his arms around her waist and murmured huskily, "I can hardly wait."

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Two hours later, the newlyweds mounted the beautiful white winged horses to carry them to their honeymoon destinations. Bayly and Gloria had no trouble in selecting Rome, both of them eager and excited to be riding a real live creature instead of merely a broom. They'd happily hopped onto the horse together and were off like a shot.

Things didn't go quite so smoothly for the Snapes. Aline had suggested a few days in Paris before school started up again, though it had taken more cajoling and promises of sweet repayment to get Severus onto the horse behind Aline, where his arms draped around her sides for security as he held the reins. It was undignified, he argued—and probably unsafe. But it was what his wife wanted, and in the end she had prevailed.

As was customary, once the wedded couples had gone the guests were free to leave as well without appearing ill-mannered. Not to say the guests _did_ leave, for most often the reception continued well into the night. There were still plenty of persons making merry in the ballroom when Viktor and Hermione slipped out into the hallway, Viktor snagging a nearly full bottle of champagne off a table as they went.

Both in varying stages of tipsy, they tripped along the corridor and stumbled against an unlocked door, a guest room by the looks of it: a bed, dresser, no personal items. They giggled like children and sneaked inside, closing the door behind them.

"See, is fun to be naughty," Viktor purred, settling on the bed and patting the spot beside him. He upended the bottle for a few good swigs before handing it to Hermione. She obligingly chugged from it and gave it back.

Soon enough the bottle had fallen to the floor and the two were lying on the bed snogging fiercely; when his hands started to roam into unfamiliar places and then to unbutton her blouse, Hermione slapped at his hands and sat up abruptly.

"I'm not ready for that, Viktor."

"I thought that is vhy you brought me in here," he proclaimed ingenuously.

"_You_ opened the door!" she accused loudly.

"Oh…right. Vell, I love you, Hermione, I haf loved you for five years!" Viktor sat up and rubbed his hand over her back and started to massage her neck while kissing it simultaneously.

"You're drunk—and I'm certainly not sober," Hermione stated, barely containing an alcohol-induced snicker. Her mother had warned her many times of the mistakes men and women make when not in control of their senses. "We can't have sex, I don't want my first time like this."

Viktor shrugged, his expression showing absolute puzzlement. "Vhen drunk is the only time I ever had sex—you know, vith Quidditch groupies. Vhere are you going? Hermioneeeee!"

The door slammed with a resounding bang behind her as Hermione rushed unsteadily down the hall. The nerve of that jerk to bring up his little whores and still expect to convince her to cave in to his desires! Blinded by tears stinging her eyes, she ran smack into Luna coming out of the ballroom for a breath of air.

"Hermione, what's wrong?"

"V-Viktor is plastered and g-getting grabby," Hermione sobbed, bursting into full blown weeping. Her voice rose to hysterical heights with, "And he was talking about girls he's shagged! He's probably been with dozens—or hundreds!" She collapsed in Luna's arms.

Patting her friend's back in sympathy, Luna cooed, "I doubt that. He loves you, and I know for a fact because he told me so that he hasn't been with anyone for at least a year. That's long before you two started to date."

"But before that…" sniffed Hermione.

"Would you like Dimitar to beat him up?" asked Luna calmly.

"No!" Hermione pulled away from Luna to see Tanassov standing off to the side listening impassively to the entire conversation.

Luna smiled and shrugged one shoulder. "Alright. Your choice."

Tanassov held back a chuckle. Luna was one of a kind, no mistaking that! And she was his…he loved that she was his. "The least I can do is feed Viktor a sobering potion. It will, of course, cause unpleasant bouts of vomiting, so I suggest you do not accompany me."

Always prepared, Tanassov drew a small vial from his breast pocket and held it up. Dimitar's father had once sobered him up with this very potion; it was not an experience he cared to repeat. Perhaps Viktor could learn the same lesson. He stalked down to the door he'd seen Hermione coming from and stormed in primed to berate the young man for his lack of control and foolishness. He found Viktor passed out on the bed, the bottle tipped over, sopping its contents into the rug.

Dimitar sighed. If he let Viktor sleep it off, he wouldn't learn anything, would he? He _accio_'d the rubbish bin, set it on the bed, and forcibly dragged Krum into a seated position by one hand clutching the front of his robes. Viktor moaned incoherently and struggled a bit. Uncorking the vial, he poured some liquid into his ex-student's mouth and held his jaw closed to compel him to swallow. Nevertheless, part of the potion dribbled from his lips onto the front of his clothing; Tanassov growled dire things to come if the lad gave him any trouble, prompting Viktor to sneer unthinkingly. Out of sheer frustration Tanassov smacked the groggy young man upside the head for ruining what had been a wonderful night. Now all he had to look forward to was a puke-fest!


	85. Muggle Nights

Death Eater No More—Chapter Eighty-Five (Muggle Nights)

**August 26, 1999**

Flying was so much easier than walking, thus Viktor determined as he slumped down on the pavement and leaned against the front of one of the houses in a long row of identical houses. He'd been up and down every street in the area to which he'd apparated, with no success. He was, quite frankly, tired. Closing his eyes, he rested his head back on the painted wood.

It wasn't that Viktor was out of shape, for he kept in superb physical condition—a necessary attribute for the grueling training sessions he endured daily to make sure he retained his status as top Seeker in the world. Rather, his exhaustion stemmed from something more basic: last night he'd got pissed at Bayly's wedding reception, then Tanassov had forced a sobering potion into him. There followed a mandatory nasty, disgusting, and excruciating puke-a-thon lasting into the wee hours of the morning, by which time he felt fairly confident his guts were ready to heave right out onto the ground…if they hadn't already, he really was afraid to look.

To make matters worse, Tanassov had taken the opportunity to spend yet another hour lecturing the ailing young man on the folly of becoming inebriated, offending Hermione, and spoiling his ex-Headmaster's night. All things considered, Viktor highly suspected _the last_ was the part that ticked off Tanassov the most. Clearly the older Bulgarian did not approve of his charges—or anyone he'd ever taught—running wild like barbarians, but when it came right down to it he fancied Luna quite a lot, it peeved him to blemish his date with her. Viktor may well have his suspicions, yet he was too shrewd to suggest them aloud. He'd once had his nose broken by a bludger, hideously painful indeed; he instinctively understood how the harsh, cranky Durmstrang professor could do every bit as much damage.

It hadn't occurred to him until now, as he peered down at his trousers, that he was still wearing his dress robes from the previous night. No wonder the Muggles kept throwing him peculiar glances. Unfortunately, he'd never been better than average at transfigurations (and it would be stretching the truth to portray himself as that proficient)…if he attempted to 'fix' his clothing to look Muggle, there was no telling how it might end up. Probably it was best to leave it be.

Viktor heaved a sigh and stood up. He'd brought this on himself, he had no one else to blame, so he may as well suck it up and do what needed to be done. Holding a slip of parchment clutched in his hand, he approached a woman waiting on the corner. "Excuse me, madam."

The lady turned her head, noticing the eccentric garments to go along with the unfamiliar accent. "Yes?"

"Can you tell me vhere is this street?"

She tilted her head to read the address. "I don't know, sorry."

Viktor nodded sullenly with a tiny bow and turned away. This was the fourth person he'd asked so far; this was going to be a long day.

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Bemused to be summoned for a visitor when no one knew she was home, Hermione thanked her mother and opened the door a crack to peek out. Her jaw dropped as her heart skipped a beat. She flung open the door and stepped out onto the porch. "Viktor! What—how—what are you doing here?"

Unable to hide his approval at the sight of the girl in shorts and a Mickey Mouse t-shirt, Viktor's eyes raked up and down her body before he answered, "I vent to your flat in London last night—or very early today—but you vere not there. It vas too late to come here…" His puppy-dog brown eyes lost all traces of his habitual brooding expression as they pleaded silently with the witch.

"How did you know where my parents live?"

Viktor cracked a sly smile. "Ve used to write each other vhen you lived here," he reminded her. "I remember the address. It took me all afternoon to find the place."

"You could have called," Hermione said quietly, brows knit.

"I tried. I looked through the Muggle directory in von of those telescope booths—"

"Tele_phone_ booths."

He nodded and went on, unperturbed. He was used to her correcting him, he liked it…it meant she cared enough to better him. "Yes. Vell, I could not make the machine vork, so here I am. I need to apologize, I acted very stupid."

Hermione closed the door very softly behind her, but she made no move toward him. "We both acted foolishly. I shouldn't have gone along with you in overindulging in champagne."

There was a lengthy pause as Viktor studied the grim set of her face, the hostile posture. This was not the forgiving attitude he'd hoped for, nor more than he deserved. How many times had his parents and uncles warned him to take heed of his actions where a woman was concerned, to behave properly lest he frighten away the one he desired? Uncle Iossif in particular knew whereof he spoke, having driven away his fiancée years ago with his womanizing and drunkenness. Why hadn't he listened—or at least remembered?

At last he said faintly, "You are still angry."

"Yes. No," she corrected herself, shaking her head, her bushy hair gusting with the breeze. "I'm not angry, I'm hurt. You claim to love me, how could you bring up all those—those _hussies_ you've been with? If I'd shagged a rugby team, would you want to hear about it?"

Viktor's sallow face paled and twisted in repulsion at the sick thought. "No! It's not like that." So she wasn't cross about the drinking so much, it was the fan girls!

Hermione evidently wasn't listening, she'd already started to talk over him. "Muggle sports heroes often have scores of lovers. I'm not naïve, I have to assume there is a corresponding similarity with wizard sports heroes. I just…I thought you were different," she finished wistfully.

"Hermione, I haf not behaved perfectly, but…I'm sorry. If I hurt you, I am sorry, I never vish that." Viktor's heavy eyebrows frowned pitifully; if he'd had a clue as to how to make his eyes turned up the puppy charm, he might have given it a go. Truth be told, he wasn't even aware he was exuding any charm whatsoever. Sadly or otherwise, he wasn't one to play mind games, he couldn't intentionally manipulate her if he wanted to. One foot shuffled nervously over a crack popping up in the concrete stoop.

Folding her arms across her chest, Hermione inhaled deeply, bracing herself. "So how many were there? Be honest, you may as well tell me before I find out later from someone else."  
This was one conversation he never wanted to have with Hermione—or anyone else, for that matter. He wasn't proud of what he'd done, he was simply too weak to resist when his teammates dragged him off for partying after winning games and he got too inebriated to use his good sense. Admittedly it took a lot of alcohol to get him to that point, but it was known to happen.

Ducking his head so he didn't have to see her reaction, he murmured, "Three." That porch crack looked pretty serious, maybe he ought to inform her parents. "They meant nothing to me, I vas drunk—I did not even know their names."

"Three?" echoed Hermione so loudly a man walking by on the sidewalk whipped his head to look. Obviously stunned, Hermione didn't even notice. In the five plus years that Viktor had played professional Quidditch, she'd expected a boatload more! Her keen gaze ripped the wizard up and down, searching for lies, finding none.

"I svear, I never vanted them, Hermione! I always only vanted you!" The young man grasped for her hands, pulling her closer to gaze eye to eye. His face softened, making him look less like a hawk and more like a smitten boy. "The first time I saw you, I knew. Vill you forgive me?"

In answer Hermione took one pace in so her chest lightly brushed his. She reached up to kiss him tenderly on the lips, prompting a low moan that made her smile. "Why don't you come in where it's cooler? Those dress robes must be pretty sticky in this August heat."

"Are you propositioning me?" grinned Viktor, happily tripping past the threshold after her. At her withering glare he cackled, "I'm joking, I'm joking!"

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**August 27, 1999**

As wedding nights go, Severus' and Aline's had been relatively uneventful. Not to say they hadn't rocked the bed of the quaint little hotel room until the occupant in the room next door pounded on the wall for them to tone it down, merely that nothing unfortunate or perilous had befallen them. The following day (afternoon, to be more precise) they'd spent at the Louvre, though a single day wasn't enough time to see—let alone appreciate—all the treasures hiding inside. Aline's interest had been piqued most by the ancient and beautiful sculptures and statues like the Venus de Milo, while Severus had practically died of boredom waiting for his wife to finish gawking at the nude torsos, examining them from every angle like a crime scene investigator.

"They're not real," he sniped after forty-five minutes of listening to her acclaim a host of naked men. Dressed in expensive black slacks and a stylish pearl-colored silk shirt, he looked far too upscale and Muggle to be the Bat of the Dungeons—until he crossed his arms and began to glower at no one in particular with a ferocity that frightened an old woman and made a little boy wet his pants.

"Jealous, love?" Aline teased, tickling the back of his neck under his lustrous black mane. It elicited an involuntary smile that he squelched through force of will. "Wait till we get to the paintings; I hear there are a ton of nudies!" She laughed and he graciously gave in and laughed with her.

Too tired from the day's exhausting escapade to do anything else, they'd returned to their hotel room. The next day, August 27, began with a quiet brunch in their room, followed by more sightseeing down less trod streets as well as a boat tour of the Seine River when they'd grown weary of walking.

Evening found them at the Eiffel Tower, the iron gridwork brilliantly lit in festive lights. They took the lift to the sleek, contemporary Le Jules Vernes restaurant on the second level, which included Aline's very first elevator ride, and an exhilarating one at that. She clung to Severus, grinning madly and giggling at the curious sensation of movement so unlike riding a broom; he, in turn, smiled down at her as he held her tight. It amazed him how easily sheltered purebloods were fascinated by seemingly ordinary things. Despite the fact that every table in the house was booked, the couple had no difficulty convincing the maitre d' to believe they had a reservation…even among Muggles the _confundus_ charm had its uses. He led them to a table beside the broad expanse of window where they enjoyed striking views of the city while they ate.

Aline edged her chair closer to Severus' and nestled her head on his shoulder. He draped his arm around her, squeezing just enough to impart the urgency of his affection while gazing down at the top of her head. Oh, how he loved her! Hell, nobody on Earth could have persuaded him to ride that winged beast all the way from Britain…no one except Aline. No one else could make him so incredibly happy to be alive; looking back in silent introspection, he realized that for his entire life he'd known only fleeting moments of pleasure or joy, yet since their first wedding a week ago he'd been content and…well, _happy_. It was a gloriously strange feeling.

"I had a wonderful time today," Aline said softly, looking out over the city. "I love you, Severus."

"Not as much as I love you," he replied, smirking. He lost the smirk when her elbow playfully nudged him in the ribs. "Alright, perhaps as much."

Aline lifted her champagne goblet to her lips and drained the remainder before setting her glass on the table. It had been a spectacular honeymoon so far, she adored spending time like this with her new husband. Pity to have to leave the restaurant, but it was getting late, she was worn out.

"So what do you want to do tomorrow?" As she spoke she twisted in his arms to face him and her hand latched onto his graceful fingers. A dizzying sensation hit her and she almost toppled over, might have done if her husband hadn't been holding on.

Vaguely worried, Severus propped her upright as she blinked rapidly. He recognized it from past experience as a vision; he recognized it as an _unwelcome_ vision as her eyes pierced his soul with an accusing expression that tore at his heart. "Aline?"

"I'm alright," she answered automatically, her expression morphing to betrayal. "Severus, why didn't you tell me there's something wrong with my mom?"

Oh, crap, why did he have to think he was happy? Fate couldn't tolerate that! He'd really hoped this conversation could wait, especially since Aline hadn't had a clairvoyant episode in weeks. In retrospect, she was probably due for one, but that was beside the point.

Looking into those adorable, hurt-filled brown eyes, he weighed his words carefully. Chances were excellent that she knew of Mr. Conn's involvement, so omitting the fact would likely be detrimental to his cause. "Your father asked me not to. He was afraid it would upset you."

"Of course it upsets me, she's my mother!" Aline shrilled, her voice rising in volume and pitch, drawing a slew of unwanted attention from others in the restaurant. "Do Abby and Lonny know, am I the only one out of the loop?"

Shrugging helplessly, Severus said, "I don't know. I don't believe they are aware." He tried to hug her but she resisted.

Her voice at the choking point, Aline managed, "Is she dying?"

"I don't know," Severus repeated. He pressed her hand between both of his. She was ready to break, he could see it; he admired her ability to swallow her tears in public. "Let's go somewhere private to discuss it."

Lips quivering, Aline responded, "I want to go home."

"Alright, sweetheart, whatever you want." He rose and pulled her up into an embrace to guide her to the lift. When they were safely inside, Severus apparated them to their hotel room. They'd need to pack before returning to Hogwarts.

'Home', as it turned out, hadn't been quite what Snape expected. He'd shrunk their luggage and pocketed it, and the two had apparated together to Hogwarts. So far, so good. However, he soon got the distinct impression that 'home' did not include Hogwarts, Spinner's End, or the Prince estate. He got this impression by his wife pitching their full-sized suitcases across their quarters while sobbing and screaming that he wasn't listening to her.

After profuse (by Snape standards) efforts at reconciliation, which ordinary folk might peg as pitiful, Severus managed to appease the woman with one blunt statement. "If you're going to America, I'm going with you."

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"Abby, I really think it's my business," Mrs. Conn retorted in response to her daughter's query concerning the tumor Aline had fire-called her and Alonzo about. Eleanor tried to scoot past her into the hallway. "Don't you have anything better to do than harass me?"

"Tell us, Mom!" demanded Alonzo, shouldering up between his sisters and blocking all escape. "We have a right to know. Dad, don't you think so?"

Aloysius sank slightly lower in his chair. He'd not worked up the courage yet to confront his wife, mainly because he feared what he might hear. On another note, he didn't like being ambushed by his kids any more than Eleanor did. "Lonny, show your mother respect. Of course I want the whole story, when she is ready to give it."

"No, Dad," Aline interjected, wiping at a stray tear. "Severus told me you're the one he learned it from. If Mom won't tell us, you have to."

"I can't!" exclaimed the man, shooting an apologetic look at Eleanor, who had finally processed the fact that the only way her husband could have known a single thing was if he'd read her without her knowledge or consent. "I discovered she has a tumor pressing on her brain, it's been there since before Abby was born. It grows when she experiences hormone shifts. That's all I got when I looked…"

"When you invaded my privacy against your promise," clipped Eleanor. Tears welled in her eyes more for that than anything else. "First my husband betrays me, now my children circle me and attack like sharks getting a scent of blood."

"Mom, please," pleaded Abigail. She dared not stretch out a hand to comfort her mother, who would certainly see it as an attempt at another illicit reading. As it was, the older witch was looking more and more like a cornered fox; nobody with common sense desired to be the recipient of the fox's fury. "We're a family, we're in this together. If it were one of _us_, you'd insist on hearing every detail."

Fair enough, Abigail wasn't wrong there. Eleanor let her shoulders slump and she moved across the room to sink down on the sofa, where Aloysius came to join her. Surprisingly, it felt liberating to finally get this massive secret off her chest and into the open. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want to burden you or worry you. There was nothing any of you could do."

By now the three adult children had gathered round: Abby perched on an overstuffed armchair, Lonny standing behind her leaning on the back of the chair, and Aline kneeling on the floor at her parents' feet, sitting back on her heels, all of them paying rapt attention.

"The tumor started very small, I didn't even know about it till after Aline was born. I felt like something wasn't right so I went to the doctor, who told me it had probably been there before Abby, that it grows in hormone-related spurts like from pregnancy or menopause. It causes mood swings and hypercritical behavior, so I'm told. I am sorry for that, I realize it has made me a difficult person at times. The doctor has been giving me potions for years to try to shrink it, or at least arrest the growth, and now that I've gone through menopause he thinks it may have finished with any significant growth."

"Meaning?" asked Alonzo.

"Meaning it won't kill me," said Eleanor calmly. For many years she'd lived with the knowledge that in all likelihood this cancer would eventually take her life; only recently had she heard a snippet of good news—assuming the doctor was right. And she honestly couldn't say it for truth.

There was a brief elation among the listeners until Aline murmured, "What if he's wrong?"

"Why would he be wrong?" inquired Abigail impatiently.

"He's tried to shrink the tumor, with no success," shot back Aline. "It's been pressing on her brain, changing her personality and damaging her relationships with all of us for decades. What makes you think he knows what he's doing?"

"He's one of the best in his field," said Eleanor dryly. "I did check his credentials."

"But what if it isn't done growing?" exclaimed Aline. "You'll die! We have to do something."

"Like what, child?" asked Eleanor in the most motherly fashion she'd used in years. "Due to the position of the tumor, they can't operate."

Aline shrugged. All eyes glued themselves to her as if they were waiting for her words of wisdom to scoff at. It made her feel like a little girl all over again. "Severus and I make potions—"

"Her doctor has been medicating her, sweetie," interrupted Aloysius, stroking Aline's head tenderly. "I'm sure he gave her the best available."

"Yes, the best available," Aline agreed softly. "I was thinking more along the lines of inventing a _new_ potion to shrink the tumor or destroy it."

No response at all save the incredulous stares of her entire family. While it came as no great surprise that they'd fail to see how she could lend a hand, it hurt nonetheless. All her life her abilities had been sold short; she was a Potions mistress, which to them meant she merely memorized formulas and copied other people's work. They didn't understand the complexities, the possibilities…

"Severus invented a formula that allowed Narcissa Malfoy to get pregnant when no one else could do it," she stated, trying to keep her voice from wavering with suppressed resentment. She didn't bother to add that she'd come up with the brew that de-greased Severus' hair…it seemed kind of anti-climactic after the pregnancy announcement.

"Really?" Lonny asked, truly interested. "Was it made available to other women?"

"No," Aline conceded. "He thought it might be dangerous to use for more than one time, and it was specific for Narcissa's problem. The point is, he made it and it worked! He'd assist me if I asked him."

Aline scrutinized her parents, her mother then her father: doubtful, with a touch of hope horning in. They wanted to believe, they wanted it to work. And now that Aline had proposed it, her stomach leaped wildly at the fear of failure after bringing up the subject. "You'll have to let me talk to your doctor, Mom, I'll need all his records of medicines and results. Will you cooperate?"

Eleanor paused for only a second, then nodded. "It isn't that I don't trust you, Aline. The fact is, I'm not sure anyone has a chance of making this go away, and I can't get my expectations up too high. The fall is hard to take." Judging from her pained look, she'd felt that fall more than once over the course of this illness.

"I understand." Aline got up and threw herself into her mother's arms. "I'll do my best, you know I will. We'll figure out something."

At the same instant Abby queried, "Where is Severus? I thought you said he came to Salem with you."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

**August 28, 1999**

Beams of warm sun pouring through the sky lights of the penthouse woke Gloria. The muffled squawks of seagulls in the distance made her smile. This Muggle flat Mr. Malfoy had rented for them was absolutely perfect, she couldn't have asked for better! They'd wanted a non-traditional honeymoon, a chance to see life outside of Britain and outside the wizarding world…aside from moments of culture shock, both she and Bayly were enjoying it immensely. Now if only they could figure out how to work the telly, their wish would be complete! She supposed they could talk to Regulus when they got back, Professor Snape liked to comment on how the boy wasted loads of time watching inane programs.

She turned her head toward her husband. It felt so odd to call him that! Because of the heat he'd kicked off the sheet, exposing the faint scars from Dolohov's mistreatment adorning his back and buttocks. Bayly had warned her about them before they wed, probably afraid she'd find them repulsive even though the healing cream he'd used had diminished them substantially. Their presence mattered not at all to Gloria, she didn't love Bayly for his flawless skin, she adored him for who he was.

Lightly she stroked a finger down one of the thicker weals, her heart aching for what he'd endured. Suddenly she leaned in to kiss his shoulder, prompting him to roll over onto his back, revealing more intimate parts of his anatomy that patently transfixed the girl.

Bayly groggily opened his eyes, noticed where his wife was gazing, and smiled. "Good morning, love. See something you like?"

The witch grinned back, eyes twinkling mischievously. "It's afternoon, my dear. All this staying up late to make love for the past three nights is making us lazy. And in answer to your question, yes. It intrigues me how different it is when you're not aroused."

"Give me a minute," laughed Bayly, and reached out to fold her into his arms.

"Down, boy," Gloria giggled back. "I need a shower."

"Ah, excellent idea! I'll join you."

Ten minutes later, as Bayly lay on the floor of the bathroom after flipping backward out of the tub with a resounding splashy thud, it didn't seem like such a good idea anymore. He'd crashed onto his back on the solid wood floor, grateful it hadn't been less forgiving tile, and lay stunned trying to catch his breath.

Gloria tugged the curtain out from under his legs and hurried to step out beside him. She knelt over him in apparent distress. "Bayly, I'm sorry! Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," he replied, stifling a groan. It was nothing serious, he'd probably only get an ugly bruise. At least he hadn't pulled a muscle or broken anything. He sat up and kissed her. "It was my fault, there's not room in there for two people. Next time we'll make it a _bath_—in a _huge_ tub."

"You're the best husband ever!" she gushed, helping him up so he didn't slip again on the wet floor, made worse by the water dripping from her hair.

"How many husbands have you had?" he retorted with a wink.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

In accordance with their hobnobbing-with-Muggles agenda, the newlyweds had been frequenting tourist sites popular in Rome. They'd been to the massively impressive Colosseum, among other attractions, as well as numerous out of the way, windy streets that left them lost for hours. All in all, an exhilarating vacation as far as they were concerned.

Today wasn't much different. They'd wandered about all afternoon on streets of grey cobblestone taking in the ambience, and had stopped near dusk at an outdoor café on a narrow street populated almost exclusively by locals, many of them reclining casually in their chairs smoking cigarettes at small round tables covered in red tablecloths overlaid with a yellow cloth. On one of the many jutting balconies two stories above, someone had hung laundry to dry over the metal rail.

Gloria nudged Bayly, who sat close beside her at one of the tables on the outskirts of the café. "Look, they're smoking! So many Muggles seem to do that."

The young man nodded, trying futilely not to stare at the mesmerizing puffs of smoke coming from the Muggles' mouths. It wasn't something he'd ever witnessed in the wizarding world, and only knew what it was from Muggle Studies class. "Hermione said it's bad for the lungs. I wonder why they do it?"

Because the waitress spoke no English, the couple pointed out items on the menu, successfully ordering beer for Bayly and lemonade for Gloria, along with an entrée as yet to be determined until it arrived.

Bayly tasted the beer and wrinkled his nose. This was nothing like butterbeer at all! "Babe, I've got to go to the loo. Will you be alright?"

"I think I can manage a few moments without you—barely," smiled Gloria.

She kissed him and he got up to look around. The bathroom had to be close by, if only he knew how to ask for it. No way in hell was he going to summon the waitress to mime opening his trousers to urinate! He entered the establishment, where he saw an arrow on the side wall that pointed further into the back, illustrated with stick figures of a man and a woman. That had to be it!

Five minutes later he emerged feeling much better, only to observe two olive skinned men, one hovering on either side of Gloria, acting far too friendly. He charged over, his hand itching to propel his wand into his fingers. "What do you think you're doing with my wife?"

Gloria looked up at him with obvious love and a little confusion. "They keep talking to me, but I don't know what they want."

Nonetheless, the pair had backed off as Bayly approached with a hard gleam in his eye that every male worldwide understood to signify nothing good. One of them, a slight fellow in his 30s with black hair slicked back off his forehead, shrugged innocently with his palms up, making him look very guilty of something, and gave a leering smile as he cooed, "_Porto dei dolciumi per i bambini."_ He threw back his head and laughed, then the two turned to go.

Had either the witch or wizard comprehended what that meant, they may not have allowed the Muggles to walk away so easily. As it was, Bayly stared the men down as they slipped away down the street before he seated himself again. Gloria sipped at her lemonade and reached over to take Bayly's hand.

"That was weird," she observed.

"Definitely," nodded the young man. He lifted his beer, reconsidered the flavor, and instead poured it out into a potted plant behind him. He'd heard some plants thrived on ales.

They chatted for a few minutes as they waited for their food. By the time their meal was served, lamb stew with a side of steaming bread, Bayly was famished. He gulped a few spoonfuls before noticing Gloria had only taken one bite; the beads of sweat on her forehead seemed atypical, as she wasn't one to perspire much even in the heat of a Quidditch match.

"Honey, are you okay?"

"I feel funny," Gloria remarked in a half-slurred tone, looking right through him. "Like I'm in a dream and the world is spinning." She'd slumped back in her chair, arms drooping like a ventriloquist's dummy.

Concerned that this was far from ordinary, Bayly shoved back his chair and rose in one quick move. "Let's go to the flat." He pulled at a fish-limp hand. Unable to get her to move on her own, he hooked her arm round his neck and prepared to lift.

"Bayly, no, I'm gonna be—" What little food and drink she'd ingested came out in a projectile rush that covered the table and everything on it. Another wave hit mere seconds later.

Patrons at nearby tables scrambled out of the path of any oncoming retches, while the waitress ran over wringing her hands to a steady stream of unintelligible words. At this point Bayly didn't care what she was saying or what anyone thought. He dug in his pocket and thrust a bill into the woman's hand to pay for their food, then he hoisted Gloria into his arms, ran around the corner, and disapparated.

They apparated into the Muggle flat where Bayly laid Gloria on the bed and started to pace frantically. He had to remain calm. It was probably just the heat, or maybe food poisoning. He dashed into the bathroom, wet a cloth, and brought it back to dab her face.

"Gloria, are you alright? What's wrong?"

She blinked several times as if trying to focus. Her voice rose with a fear that cut to Bayly's heart. "I don't know. I can't see right."

She'd started to pant, which at first her husband attributed to panic. Now that perceived panic struck him hard. He had to do something! He didn't speak the language, how could he take her to a Muggle healer? Professor Snape would know what to do—but he was somewhere in France!

"Dr. Livingston!" he heard himself exclaim. Why hadn't Gloria's father been the first one he thought of? He rummaged desperately through his suitcase for the portkey given to him by Lucius Malfoy, with the instructions to use it to come home after their holiday.

His fingers brushed a bit of cold metal, which he snatched up and held in front of his face for a moment. It was a silver dragon claw pin, its talons clutching tight an olive branch. Rushing to the bed he scooted up close to Gloria, propping her up with a strong arm around her, and twisted the branch one click clockwise. Instantly they were sucked away, to land with an unceremonious thump on the front porch of Malfoy Manor. Bayly banged on the door and hauled Gloria up in his arms.

Sisidy hustled the boy carrying his wife inside; without waiting for instructions she popped out, to return seconds later holding onto a disgruntled Lucius' pantleg. She was saved from a scolding for her audacity when his eyes fell on the young couple, and he didn't like what he saw.

"Bayly, is this witch drunk?" he drawled with an edge ever so like his father's voice.

"No, sir!" Bayly answered, scarcely restraining the hysteria building inside him. "She—she was drinking lemonade…we were eating—she said she felt funny and she was puking and now I think she's not waking up!"

Lucius turned to Sisidy. "Fetch Dr. Livingston immediately."

"Yes, Master Malfoy!" The elf had gone before the last bit of his name made it from her lips.

Lucius was just about to suggest Bayly set Gloria on the sofa of the main sitting room when the girl's body began to jerk and writhe in the throes of a seizure.

(**A/N**: Translation of the line in Italian: "I bring candy for the children.")


	86. Vengeance is Mine

Death Eater No More—Chapter Eighty-Six (Vengeance is Mine)

**August 27, 1999**

Finding one of the most eligible bachelors in Salem had proven to be a ludicrously easy undertaking: all Severus had to do was follow the throng of gold diggers gathered in a simpering, fawning cluster around the bloke in Salem's most chic wizard nightclub. From afar he gauged the man through half-lidded eyes, his face bearing its usual blank expression—the only part of him that was recognizable. In anticipation of this moment, he'd spelled himself with a glamour charm that made him appear eerily similar to Ron Weasley. It was the only form he could find that was virtually the opposite of him in every way…he was just glad he didn't have to look at himself for the duration of the task!

Ignoring the earsplittingly bad music of the live band, magically amplified so unsuspecting victims on the street might share in the nauseating bounty, Severus picked his way casually through the crowd ever closer to his target, his heart rate increasing with his excitement. A light sneer played across his lips; as much as he had despised working for Voldemort, at times he missed the exhilaration of the hunt, the satisfaction of seeing a hated enemy receive his comeuppance.

The odor of firewhiskey, beer, and wine assailed his nostrils, causing his nose to wrinkle. Despite the example of his alcoholic father, the few times he'd ever imbibed in his life he'd somehow managed to end up tipsy or straight-out shitfaced. Unacceptable under the best of circumstances, stupid and dangerous when he had a mission to accomplish. A flush of…yes, _pleasure_, sheer unadulterated pleasure ran through him as he mulled silently over his game plan. Who needed liquid props when he felt this good?

He approached a tottering brunette in a skimpy red dress and spiky heels who seemed primed to pass out at any moment from partaking of too many spirits. Such would likely preclude her remembering ever meeting him. Perfect. In his best imitation of Aline's accent (which did surprisingly fair justice to the real thing) he said, "Excuse me. Would you hand this to Paxon Winston?"

The brunette grinned sloppily at him, her eyes unable to focus simultaneously. "Okay. Then you want to dance?"

Snape flinched, but forced a smile. "Sure." He made certain to drive home the 'r' sound at the end of the word the way Americans did—American cowboys of the 19th century, maybe.

The woman stumbled into the half dozen witches surrounding Paxon, some of whom did not even look to be of age, and thrust the note in his face. At first he appeared disinterested, assuming the witch had written him a poem or a love note, and he tried to brush her hand away. When she turned and pointed to Snape as she babbled and gestured, a glint lit the man's eye. Curious now, he unfolded the parchment and skimmed it in the dim, flickering light of the establishment. His gaze flicked from the paper to the redhead staring steadfastly at him, completely dispassionate, vacant even.

"I'll be back in a few, ladies. Sit tight." Paxon got up and adjusted his robes, ran his fingers through his collar length sandy hair, and licked his lips. It wasn't every day he was offered a thousand galleons for ten minutes of his time!

In retrospect, perhaps his own drinking had addled his senses a tad more than was prudent. When, exactly, had he _ever_ been offered such a sum just to speak to him? And by a man he'd never seen before…what if he thought Paxon was some kind of gigolo and wanted sexual favors? No, that was ridiculous! Where had the fellow gone?

Notwithstanding his misgivings, Paxon was definitely not in full control of his faculties, and he did go outside to meet this stranger. He walked past the bouncer assigned to the door to keep our ruffians; his head swiveled as he scanned the area. To his right, down at the end of the building where it curved into an alley, he spied the carrot orange hair atop the black, nondescript robes. The redhead, upon catching sight of him, used a beckoning motion of his fingers and disappeared into the alley.

Severus stood facing the entry to the alley, arms relaxed at his sides, lips fighting back an amused grin. He remembered the last time he'd engaged in this game of cat and mouse, the time he'd taught Barty Crouch, Jr. a well-deserved lesson in keeping his hands and wand to himself. That had been nearly twenty years ago, and now apparently someone else needed to learn a comparable lesson. Snape had no qualms whatsoever about teaching it to him.

Paxon sidled up to the entrance and peeked around the corner. Seeing only one man, who seemed relatively harmless aside from that odd broodiness, he put on a handsome smile that made the girls swoon and stepped into the alley. His stomach heaved convulsively at the overpowering stench of urine. "I got your note. You have me at a disadvantage, I don't know your name." If he hoped for the wizard to offer it, he was disappointed. "You said you'd pay me, so talk. What do you want to see me about?"

"About the thousand galleons—I lied." Snape nonchalantly lifted his wand and blasted the unsuspecting wizard with an _immobulus_, then he strolled up to grasp Paxon by the throat. The only part of him exuding emotion were his eyes sparking with venom. Putting his mouth close to Paxon's ear, dropping his pitiful attempt at the cumbersome accent, he rasped, "You're a fool, you know that? I could be a vampire, or the disgruntled brother of one of your conquests, or…your nightmare." With that he disapparated, taking Winston with him.

They reappeared into a field of stubble from recently harvested crops. The night being dark and overcast, if there was a house in the vicinity it was not visible. Severus cast a silencing charm and an anti-apparition barrier in quick succession; wouldn't want the bloke trying to escape before the fun was over.

Snape reached into Paxon's breast pocket to retrieve his wand, then took a few paces backward to observe his captive, to note the apprehension in his eyes. Barty had been arrogant to the last, right up until the curse hit him. Severus didn't estimate Paxon that way; he'd be a squirmer. In a moment he'd begin the procedure, but for now he wished to bask in Winston's terror. Merlin, he loved this part of it! Did that make him a psychopath? No, definitely not—the very fact that he was concerned over being a psychopath assured him that he was _not_. That was Voldemort's territory, and Dolohov's. Besides, Snape didn't enjoy torturing people like they did, he simply required justice, he needed to see wrongs righted. If performed properly, his guidance led to positive transformation…and if he got revenge along the way, bully for him.

"I'm going to release you from the _immobulus_, and then we're going to have a little chat," drawled Snape in the altered voice he'd conjured. Somehow it didn't feel as menacing as he'd like, not as clearly intimidating as what he was used to. As promised, he removed the spell, raising his eyebrows. "Where to begin?"

Paxon made the mistake of half-lunging and then froze in place at Snape's wand aimed directly at his forehead. The expression on the maniac's face told Paxon he had no compunction about firing. Slowly he eased back, trembling with a mixture of ire and alarm. "Give me my wand."

"I think not," answered Snape lazily. "I could duel you for it, but then I'd own it and what would you do?" He toyed with the idea of snapping it in half, only then the prat would have to go to Abigail Conn for a new one, and who knew what she may see? The Conns were a cunning bunch, she just might put two and two together somehow. "I have a delightful evening planned, though I dare say you will undoubtedly fail to appreciate the subtleties involved."

"What do you want? Who _are_ you?" pleaded the other.

Aware of severe time constraints, Severus sighed softly. Ordinarily he'd be thoroughly prepared, there would be no variation from the plan unless circumstances dictated it. As it was, he'd only toyed with this idea up to now because he hadn't known he'd be coming here to Salem so soon, this was quite frankly an unexpected trip. He'd taken the opportunity to slip out of the Conn residence when they began to argue, and it seemed only natural to do something productive, something he'd do eventually anyway. Unfortunately, Aline would be looking for him soon, which precluded prolonging this session as he'd prefer.

He decided to forego Legilimency to ascertain the full truth because, in all honesty, he wasn't sure he would be able to restrain himself from using the killing curse if he had to witness this bastard threatening or attacking Aline. "I told you, I am your nightmare. What you shrink from in your dreams will consume you for the fear and pain you've brought upon unknown numbers of women." Wow, that sounded very…prophet-like…or perhaps mad scientist.

"What are you talking about? I love women!"

"Of course you do," crooned Severus, faking commiseration rather badly. "That's why when they refuse to satisfy your lust, you try to force yourself upon them."

Paxon's already wide eyes doubled in size until he resembled a very tall, hairy house elf. Shaking his head violently he croaked, "I—I—who told you that? It's a lie!"

A flick of the wrist sent a hex that slapped Paxon hard on the cheek, staggering him. Gritting his teeth, Severus growled, "My wife does not lie to me."

The other man looked poised to faint. "It's a mistake, then. I never went out with a married witch—never!"

"She wasn't my wife at the time," snapped Severus, rolling his eyes. Good heavens, did he have to spell out everything in plain block letters? They didn't even _have_ Gryffindorks here! "Moving on, how many women have you raped? A ballpark figure will do. Confession is good for the soul, you know."

Paxon's lips twitched as if trying to speak or possibly suck in air. He looked rather peaked. Again he shook his head fervently as he protested, "If I have sex with anybody, it's because they want it! I never hit a woman, I never hurt anybody!"

It may have been good enough to convince a jury, but it didn't convince Snape. Even without Legilimency, practice and logic dictated that this was a bald lie. Aline had avoided being raped merely because she'd been able to resist quite forcefully. For that attempt alone Winston deserved to suffer. However, odds did not favor this one incident as being unique, and most witches were not as physically equipped to fight back as Aline with her clairvoyant-related strength.

"There are ways of coercion that do not necessitate brutal violence, aren't there, Paxon? Get her too drunk to say no, pressure her with how much you _care_ for her until she complies, threaten her…all very effective and leave no marks." Severus ignored the other man's endeavor to make feeble objections. "When we're through, I trust you will be able to say in all sincerity that you will never again harm a woman. _Verpa gemynd percepcioun."_

The spell struck Paxon squarely between the eyes. Dazed, he weaved to and fro before dropping like a rock to the ground. Rough ends of corn stalks pressed on his face, though he was oblivious to them. Snape squatted down beside him to continue their 'conversation'. Time to set the stage. All he had to do was lead the way, let Paxon's imagination run wild and do the rest.

"It's a hot night, Paxon. Sweltering."

Beads of sweat broke out on Winston's forehead. Panting, he clawed at the neck of his shirt, ripping it open. "I need air."

Careful to lead his victim in a direction that felt real, lest the spell fail to work, Snape said, "There is no air here. Where are we?"

The man kicked his legs in a froglike motion, waving his arms as if treading water. "Help me! Get me out!" Every so often his head plunged downward and he became drenched, he spit out water as though he'd had his head dunked under. "Stop it, I'm telling Mom and Dad!"

Severus' lip curled into a sneer. Ironic, wasn't it, that leading people into their own deep terrors invariably led them home to their families? "They want to hurt you, Paxon. They want to drown you and your parents aren't here to protect you."

Winston let out a high pitched whimper, his arms and legs flailing madly at unseen foes, trying to hold off an imaginary enemy made of air while said enemy pummeled him from all sides, and he hacked out bursts of water. As Severus looked on impassively, bruises formed on Paxon's face, his nose spurted blood, his head and body jerked with the force of phantom blows. From what Severus could gather from this vicious scene, Paxon's siblings were as wretched as he was! He was gulping air between gurgles, unable to scream or call out…for all intents and purposes, he was drowning.

Snape figured he'd best put a stop to it before the idiot drowned himself in a dry cornfield. "They're gone now, come ashore."

Paxon made the motions of swimming a short distance and dragging himself out to lay on the beach, panting and coughing uncontrollably. His entire body was soaked, he seemed exhausted.

Time to kick it up a notch. While curiously studying the other wizard for his reaction, Severus said, "Who's that? Two men. They look angry, what have you done?"

Paxon jerked his head to the left and scurried up onto his knees, his arms lifted to ward off the intruders. Sensing that another 'beating' was on the horizon, Snape quickly reworded his statement. As pleasurable as watching the prick get pummeled may be, he didn't have all night, he had to get to the heart of the matter.

"They want you, Paxon," Severus cooed. "You're a handsome man, very desirable."

The horrific look of dread spreading across Paxon's face made Severus stifle a chortle. The power of the imagination far exceeded whatever Snape might be willing to do to him. It was about time the git experienced how it felt to be on the other side of the fence! Sure enough, Paxon's mind conjured his worst, deepest fears. An unearthly cry rang out as his sodden shirt was literally ripped from his body by unseen hands, revealing a multitude of bruises and scrapes from the earlier trouncing in the 'water'.

Red finger marks appeared encircling his wrists, dragging him forward onto his stomach, scratching his delicate flesh on the hard stumps of plants beneath him. He begged and howled distressingly at his assailants, neither of whom evidently were moved to pity. With his arms still outstretched and unable to move, the second attacker yanked off his trousers.

"Please, God, please make them stop!" he sobbed in a shriek, kicking his legs futilely even as his underwear went the way of his slacks.

His voice hoarse from screaming continued to plead, his breathing so ragged Severus feared he might suffer cardiac arrest. When the imminent attack appeared ready to occur, quietly Snape intoned, "_Finite incantatem."_

Paxon rolled over on the ground, drawing himself into the fetal position. Ignoring his nakedness and the tears wetting his cheeks, he panted in silence for a minute while he regained his senses, then turned a furious visage to Snape. "How dare you do that to me!"

"I did nothing except observe you descend into madness," said Snape coolly, rising to his feet.

"They almost raped me!" screeched Paxon, wild eyed, finally sitting up and snatching his clothing to his chest.

Severus peered around blandly and sneered, "Who might that be? Your imaginary friends?"

"I'll have you arrested, I swear!"

"Oh, you've frightened me now," drawled Severus, crossing his arms and assuming the bat-like pose, death glower firmly in place. He wondered how it looked on this obtuse Weasley countenance. And seriously, he hated the way his natural drawl sounded in this altered voice. Where was the menace, the oomph? He probably couldn't even make a firstie quiver with this voice! "Listen very carefully to me, Mr. Winston, for I will not repeat myself. Were I of a mind to do so, I could read your memories and spill them to the aurors, and we'd see who was arrested. I gave you a mild taste of what you have dished out. I'll be keeping an eye on you; if I discover you've done so much as behave disrespectfully to another woman, I will make you suffer in ways your imbecilic brain cannot begin to fathom. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," muttered Paxon. For the briefest second he considered the man was lying, he was no Legilimens…but what if he was? He seemed to _know_ things. The last thing Paxon needed was for the aurors to find out he had used more than gentle persuasion on occasion to get his way in bed. He didn't know who this foreign wizard was, but whoever he was, he was mean as a snake and thoroughly trained in torture—at least he'd be willing to bet on it. This was no curse he'd ever heard of!

"I sincerely hope never to make your acquaintance again," Severus remarked, his face darkening. "For your sake." He removed the anti-apparition barrier and flipped Paxon's wand onto the ground, then disapparated leaving the bruised and bloody Paxon to dress himself and find his way home.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

**August 28, 1999**

"Thanks for giving me all of three minutes notice," griped Regulus.

He hauled a set of new robes, dark brown with gold trim, from the wardrobe in his bedroom at Spinner's End. The look of distaste on his brother's face didn't escape him. No matter how much Lucius and Cissy did for Reg, including giving him that large sum of money which allowed him to afford robes such as this, Sirius refused to budge on his opinion of Lucius. They'd hated each other since they were children, nothing had changed there. At least he had reinstated a relationship with Cissy, however tenuous. That was something.

"It was a spur of the moment change of plans," explained Sirius as he flopped onto the bed covered in a thick, luxurious green comforter that matched the café curtains. "Daphne's sister begged to come along, and I don't wanna babysit."

"So you'll let _me_ babysit," grunted Reg, throwing his clothes toward the hamper in the corner and missing. Kreacher would be happy to take care of that when he came to bring food, it made him feel useful to pick up after his beloved master. He started to don the dress robes, entirely unabashed at his brother's presence. "That's Severus' bed, you know." He grinned wickedly to watch the older Black bounce up off the furniture like a rubber ball. Severus had not even seen, let alone used the new bed, as he'd left redecorating up to Aline and Narcissa. Sirius didn't need to know that.

Sirius pointedly brushed off his robes while delivering a scowl. "She's seventeen, you're eighteen—I'd say it's more of a date."

While Reg left for the bathroom to comb his hair and brush his teeth, Sirius wandered around the room taking in the décor. It stunned him how tastefully the whole place was done up, he'd have been willing to bet Snape outfitted his house solely in black with accents of blood and creepy-crawlies, maybe dead animals adorning the walls. Like a bolt of lightning it struck him—_Aline_. Aside from the fact that she'd agreed to marry the loony git, she was probably a normal person. _She_ must have done it.

Reg dropped a hand on Sirius' shoulder. "I'm ready."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Gregory, didn't Draco say he was interested in Astoria?" Pansy reached across the table to prod his arm and point surreptitiously across the room at the dance floor of the _Silver Sparrow_, where Regulus was currently swirling the girl in question in a samba.

Goyle swallowed the bite he'd been chewing and craned his block head around to look. Yep, that was Astoria with the Black kid, alright. "Draco said he was gonna ask her out, I don' know if he ever did. Looks like she got 'erself another beau."

"Look, Daphne is here, too! I have to go talk to her. Come on." Pansy flitted out of her chair, rounded the table, and tugged on her husband's collar.

"I'm eating!" he grunted in protest.

"I can't go over there alone, it would look presumptuous," insisted the young lady. "Great, now Black—the jerkface Black—is leading Daphne to the dance floor."

"Good for him," sniped Goyle, stuffing another bite of steak in his mouth. His wife greeted his remark with an icy scowl that promised rough times ahead—and no sex. _That_ got his attention. He gulped the bite down half-chewed. "You wanna dance or somethin'? Or you want me to go get Malfoy?"

"No, I want you to…actually, yes. Go get Draco," nodded Pansy slyly. When he got here, they'd find out what exactly was going on. If he had decided he no longer fancied Astoria, fine; but if the little witch was two-timing him, what better place to sit and watch the fireworks?

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Draco had been irrationally wary of the _Silver Sparrow_ restaurant ever since Goyle had kicked his ass there for consorting with Pansy just about a year ago. Thus, he found it ironic—not amusingly so—that Goyle should show up at his door now suggesting Malfoy accompany him to the establishment.

It wasn't that he was afraid Goyle would attack him again, they'd gotten past their animosities once the big lunkhead had married Pansy and felt secure again. What bothered him were the things Goyle was demurely trying not to say, or to say in a manner that didn't sound vile. Being the halfwit that he was, his deplorable efforts at subtlety fell flat, and frankly, Goyle playing at demure creeped Draco out in a way that made the tiny hairs on his arms stand up, and sent up red flags that something was sorely amiss.

As such, he returned to the restaurant with his friend, intent on speaking with Pansy, whose intellect allowed for a decent conversation and who might be able to clarify what her husband was skirting around. He hadn't yet reached her table when something, or rather _someone_, caught his eye and he froze in his tracks. There, as bold as you please, his cousin Regulus was not only chatting up Astoria, he was dipping her in a most provocative fashion while she smiled up at him and laughed! Her long, honey colored hair skimmed the floor and Draco was sure Reg could look right down the front of her loose blue gown that brought out the color of her eyes.

_Malfoys do not throw tantrums in public_, Draco automatically reminded himself, but the self warning failed to penetrate his fury. He stormed across the dance floor, fists balled, breathing hard through his pinched nostrils. Striding right up to the pair, adeptly avoiding the rest of the couples on the floor, he tapped Regulus harder than necessary on the shoulder. One might argue he thumped his cousin a mighty whack that made the other wince and was likely to cause a bruise.

Regulus turned and his face broke into a grin. "Hey, Astoria, look who's here! Hi, Draco."

Not in the mood for niceties, Draco hissed, "So this is the thanks I get for bringing you back from the dead—you sneak out with the girl you _know_ I like, with the intent to do God knows what!"

Reg's grin wavered into annoyed confusion. "It's called 'dancing'. And by the way, am I gonna have to hear this 'brought you back to life' crap every time you get a bug up your arse? It gets old, cousin."

"Piss off."

Regulus gave an apologetic smile to the young woman gaping in astonishment at Draco—not so much for his rude comment as for the remark about liking _her_. "Why don't you go to the table, Astoria? I'll be along in a minute."

"How could you go behind my back like this, Reg? Even for being Sirius' brother, that's pretty low."

That did it. The habitually good natured Regulus glared daggers right at him. For a second it seemed he might take a swing himself. "I was going to explain, but I won't bother. You don't deserve it." He spun on his heel and started toward the table where Astoria perched on the edge of her chair breathlessly taking in the scene.

Without allowing his brain to override his primitive instinct, Draco grabbed Reg's arm, wheeled him around, and punched him in the jaw. Regulus staggered back more horrified than hurt, and stood looking at his cousin with a poignant, betrayed expression. Draco gawped back at him in a kind of shocked, appalled bewilderment. He'd never done anything like that before, what had come over him?

As if echoing his sentiment, Reg crowed, "What the f—k, Draco?"

Momentarily Sirius and Daphne, who'd been dancing nearby, arrived on the scene, both of them stunned at Malfoy's atypical behavior. Sirius pulled his brother aside to prevent reprisal in the form of a full fledged battle, while Daphne advanced on Draco. She'd known him most of her life, she'd seen what he was capable of with a wand or a scathing remark, but _this_? Since when did Malfoys initiate brawls?

"Draco, are you alright? This isn't like you."

By now the blond was cradling his fist to his chest; apparently he'd hurt it worse than he'd hurt Reg. He jerked his chin at the Blacks. "Why don't you ask your idiot boyfriend's brother?"

"I'm asking _you_." She crossed her arms and stared him down. He hated it when she did that, which had always given her a secret thrill. She made a mental note to get him back later for calling Sirius an idiot.

"Why is Reg here with Astoria? Are they courting?" he demanded in a tight, sulky tone that bordered on anxiety.

Daphne broke into a smile that quickly turned to a belly laugh, which Draco no doubt did not appreciate. "Oh, my God, you fancy my little sister! Geez, Malfoy, you don't have to turn into Goyle, just go talk to her!"

"What about Regul—"

"They're not dating," interrupted Daphne, glancing at Regulus' peeved countenance. "Maybe you ought to apologize to him first, _then_ go talk to Astoria."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Lucius, please, could you move back and stop hovering?" Dr. Livingston inquired waspishly, brushing the other wizard aside as he rounded the bed to check his daughter's pupils.

Lucius sniffed indignantly, pinching his lips and stepping back two paces. He was not _hovering_. Malfoys did not _hover_, they struck up strategic positions from which to observe a particular proceeding. In this case, the strategic position happened to be at the bedside of Gloria Livingston Young while her father ministered to her.

Nonetheless, he could forgive the doctor's snarky attitude, considering the circumstances. "Has her condition improved?"

"I believe so," said the doctor tentatively, looking up at Lucius and then over to Bayly, who'd barely spoken a word since bringing the girl in. He'd stood woodenly, propped against the wall, staring intently at his wife as if willing her to arise, obviously in shock. "The charms I used to prevent more seizures and vomiting are holding up well. There is nothing else I can do."

"She's your daughter," came an accusing voice from across the room. Bayly pushed himself off the wall to advance on the trio, his hazel eyes full of pain and worry. "How can you say there's nothing you can do? Will you let her die?" His voice cracked at the last and he averted his face.

"Bayly, he's doing all he can," Lucius interjected on the healer's behalf.

"It's alright, Lucius, he's afraid for her. So am I." Dr. Livingston twisted away from the bed looking even more solemn than before, if possible. "I make it a practice to read everything I can about medicine and healing, even some Muggle literature." Here his tone lowered to a near growl. "I believe Gloria has been poisoned with some variation of a certain Muggle drug I read about. As long as she continues to breathe normally and we can control the seizures and such, it should work its way out of her system and she should wake up in a few hours."

"And if she doesn't?" squeaked Bayly.

The doctor paused, seemed to consider the question and discounted it, then nodded to himself. "She will. She's a fighter—isn't that one of the reasons you love her?"

Bayly cracked a smile and nodded along. "Yeah, she is that. But, sir—how could this happen? Gloria doesn't use drugs!"

"I don't know. Judging from what I've read, someone likely put it in her food or drink." Gauging from the dismayed expression on Bayly's face, he'd hit the nail on the head and his stomach clenched. "Do you know who did it?"

Bayly nodded slowly while saying, "No, sir. I mean, I think I do, but I don't know who they are. It's my fault, I went to the loo and when I got back they were there! Two men, they were talking in Italian, and one laughed, and…" He heaved a hard breath and let it out. The shame he felt at his inability to protect or help his wife of only four days was palpable.

"It's not your fault," whispered the doctor. His wand made yet another pass over the girl searching for a change of any kind.

Bayly gestured for Lucius to come near while he edged closer to Lucius to speak in a muted voice that, despite his best efforts, was surely audible to the doctor in the deathly quiet room. "Mr. Malfoy, you were a Death Eater for a long time. You must know things like how to find people, how to make them pay. Will you help me find them?"

Nothing like a request that puts one on the spot while simultaneously calling to mind all the things a person would prefer forgotten! If the boy were a scant few centimeters closer so he wouldn't have to exert himself, Lucius would have been severely tempted to smack him. Ah well, it wasn't as if the whole of Britain weren't aware of his past…but still, did the kid have to make him sound so seedy?

And to top it off, the good doctor was no doubt hanging on to every syllable. Were it not for the fact that Hugh Livingston was Gloria's father and would not begrudge his son-in-law a measure of revenge, Lucius would have refused to answer until they were alone. As it stood, he had to remember that Bayly was no fool; unless he felt secure in the knowledge that he could speak freely before the doctor, he was unlikely to broach such a delicate topic in front of a witness. And of course if he helped Bayly in this, Dr. Livingston would be indebted to him. It never hurt to have someone owe you a favor, now did it?

In a calm, smooth drawl Lucius replied, "I will not allow you to murder anyone. That said, I do sympathize with your position and I may be able to offer assistance in finding the culprit for the purpose of retribution. Stay with your wife, I need to make a call on an associate." He peered directly at Dr. Livingston, who was watching the pair intently, albeit completely non-judgmentally. "I trust you heard none of our conversation, Hugh."

"Not a word," replied the doctor, turning back to his daughter and seating himself on the bed beside her. "Bayly, come join us. Gloria will want you here when she wakes up."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Missy was amusing herself on the porch when Lucius apparated to the old farmhouse in Scotland. She'd lined up an army of her dolls on the railing and on the floorboards and appeared to be delivering an animated lecture to the crowd. Lucius would have thought this perfectly natural had it not been quite late in the evening and pitch dark outside, save the scant illumination of the stars.

He meandered slowly forward so as not to frighten the girl and give her time to recognize him in the dim light. "Hello, Missy. What are you doing out here so late?"

"Playing," replied the child simply. She adjusted the arms on one of her dolls.

When no further explanation was forthcoming, Lucius rolled his eyes and shook his head. If the Notts had raised their boys in this hands-off fashion, it was wonder they'd all managed to survive to teenagers. "I need to speak to your parents."

"They're sleeping," said Missy with a shrug. "Wanna play?" She grinned as she picked out the hideous, squat redhaired troll doll she forced on him almost every time he came to visit. She thrust it at him and he recoiled. How he hated that blasted toy!

"No, I don't have time right now. Let's go in."

"Peter and Elliot went back to Beauxbatons," Missy chirped, ignoring his request. "And Theo's at our old house, so nobody plays with me. Mummy sometimes takes me to a little town close to here—"

"Missy!" Lucius hissed. As tears welled up in her big brown eyes and her lower lip set to quivering, he felt a twang of guilt. The poor kid had no friends her own age to consort with, she must be quite lonely. Even so, it couldn't be helped, he had a task. He raised his cane and rapped sharply on the door several times. "Nott! It's Lucius Malfoy!"

He waited for signs of stirring, heard a lumbering down the stairs. A bare chested Udo Nott pushed aside the curtain on the window adjacent to the door and his heart leaped into his throat. Flinging the door open, he stomped past Lucius to snatch up his little daughter in his arms and shake her gently. "Missy, what are you doing out here?"

"Mr. Malfoy's mean!" exclaimed the girl piteously. "He won't play with me!"

"You are not supposed to be out of bed!" groused her father.

They were joined momentarily by Nott's wife clad in a faded housecoat, her dark hair disheveled, yet somehow she looked absolutely radiant. She took one gander at the situation and shrilled, "Melissa Nott, you get up to your room this instant! If you're not asleep by the time Mr. Malfoy leaves, I will spank your hind end, do you hear me?"

Missy struggled down from her father's arms and bolted inside. Apparently she'd learned from experience that she couldn't manipulate her mother as easily as the men in the family. Loud thumps accompanied her trip up the stairs, followed by a slammed door. She hadn't lost all her spunk!

"Hello, Lucius," said Fidelia pleasantly, smiling and waving him inside as though nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. "You need to talk to Udie, I suppose."

"Actually, Fidelia, I've come to see both of you. I apologize for the late hour, there's been a…an incident. I've come to ask a favor."


	87. Making Amends

Death Eater No More—Chapter Eighty-Seven (Making Amends)

Breakfast at the Malfoy estate could have been less awkward and uncomfortable. As always, Lucius sat at the patriarch's spot at the head of the table. Narcissa sat to his right with Ladon's high chair beside her, Draco to his left with their guest Regulus beside him. Ordinarily this arrangement worked out well…when one young man hadn't recently tried to pummel the other in a public establishment without adequate provocation.

Lucius massaged his temples, leaning his elbows on the table as he closed his eyes to think. Well, so much for _that_. Pretending wasn't making it go away. Already this morning he'd received three owls informing him of Draco's activity the previous night, all from business acquaintances who happened to be at the restaurant when the boy went berserk. It didn't do the family any favors, to be kind. He had enough on his mind as it was, yet he simply could not overlook it altogether.

"Draco, I've had reports from more than one source that my son was involved in a brawl at the _Silver Sparrow._" Draco put down his fork and opened his mouth to protest, but shut it when Lucius raised a hand. "Let me rephrase that: my son _initiated_ a brawl at the _Silver Sparrow_. As Ladon is not yet walking, I must assume these reports refer to you." He cocked an eyebrow, waiting.

Hearing his name, Ladon flailed his limbs and babbled something at his father as thin wheat cereal spilled out his mouth and dribbled onto his chest. Narcissa wiped a napkin across his chin and peered over at her husband. He didn't look angry, that was good, although unlike Draco he was quite adept at hiding his emotions. She slid a small bowl of chopped strawberries into Ladon's reach so he could feed himself while she listened.

"It wasn't a brawl, Father. I hit Regulus _once_."

Lucius heaved a sigh. Did the lad not comprehend the part about public setting? "Have you nothing better to do than fight with your cousin? Your reputation can't tolerate a lot of sullying, the past is still too fresh in people's minds. And Merlin's ghost, when _Sirius_ was right there, why did you attack _Regulus_?"

"Why does everyone keep picking on Sirius?" groused Reg, loading his plate with more bacon. "He's been acting better lately."

"I'm talking to my son, Regulus. We'll discuss the blood traitor's shortcomings later," drawled Lucius, ignoring the boy's piqued expression. Honestly, why was Reg so attached to the mutt? Sirius had been a jackass to him most of his life, and if he were indeed trying to change it was a long overdue metamorphosis. "Draco, I asked you a question."

His son, who'd been biting his lip and staring down at the tablecloth, replied, "He was dancing with Astoria. I thought he—they…I thought he was trying to woo her."

A chunk of strawberry sailed through the air, plunked him on the head, and dropped to the table leaving a red stain in his whitish hair. "Day!" Ladon crowed proudly. He was _sharing_.

Rubbing absently at the sticky spot, Draco smiled weakly at his brother. "Thanks, Brax. Father, I apologized to Reg and he accepted my apology. Can't we let it go?"

In the same instant understanding dawned on the Malfoy couple, both of whom gazed intently at their spouse as they remembered that long ago time, that image of a jealous Lucius pitching a fit when he misinterpreted his wife giving the teenaged Severus dance lessons and nearly went ballistic. As different as Draco was from Lucius, they had that in common—jealousy toward a woman they cared for.

"So…are you courting Astoria?" asked Narcissa.

"Yes, Mother," Draco answered, lighting up. "She agreed to see me tomorrow."

"Excellent," nodded Lucius, more to himself than to Draco. The Greengrasses were a fine pureblood family, if the boy married Astoria that would be one worry off Lucius' mind. "At least something beneficial came of this."

"Good thing your dad's not angry," Regulus interjected, crunching some bacon and scrambled eggs between toast to make a sandwich. "He can be pretty dangerous."

"What is that supposed to mean?" demanded Lucius crossly.

"You broke my collarbone!" Reg retorted before taking a big bite.

Ah, yes, Lucius had forgotten about that. It was so long ago. He now recalled that day in Vertik Alley, he'd been there with Narcissa, she'd been cajoling him to try pizza…which had been quite tasty, by the way. A band of masked Death Eaters showed up in the raid that killed Edgar Bones, his wife, and two children. Was it Lucius' fault the little dork Regulus shot a hex at him, forcing him to retaliate with a bone shattering curse?

"Get over it. That was ages ago," Lucius remarked dryly.

"Not for me!"

"Well, it taught you to watch what you were doing, didn't it?" snapped the older wizard. "If I'd known it was you, I'd have used something less painful and more gruesome! How dare you insinuate that I'd hurt my children?"

"Enough!" Narcissa barked, making all heads turn. "Draco, congratulations, we hope things work out with Astoria. Regulus, my husband is not going to harm his children, though if you keep it up I can't guarantee he won't smack _you_ upside the head. Can we have a pleasant meal, please?"  
"Of course, love," cooed Lucius, taking her hand. After breakfast he'd need to organize for his trip; he ought to leave her on a high note.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Theodore Nott had been summoned home from the Nott estate to the house in Scotland to watch his baby sister, which did not make him happy. To find out his parents didn't even know how long they'd be gone made him downright sullen. With his brothers off at Beauxbatons, there was no one to share Missy duty, and while he dearly loved the urchin, she could be…difficult. He'd left her upstairs doing God-knows-what while he decided to take a well-earned nap.

He awoke with a start at a soft touch on his cheek, a finger stroking along his jawline lightly. Sleepily he sat up on the sofa and swung his legs down, reaching up at the same time to pull Jacinta into an embrace and robust kiss. "Hello, my sweet. What are you doing here?"

"I thought you might be bored," she said, settling on his lap, smiling at him. "Where's your sister?"

Theo shrugged. "She's around someplace, probably yanking the hair off her dolls or burrowing a hole in the ground. She's always up to something."

"I didn't see her outside," offered Jacinta, glancing instinctively about the living room. "I haven't heard her, either."

"Missy!" bellowed Theo. He smiled sheepishly at the grim expression his girlfriend delivered. "Sorry, didn't mean to shout in your ear. Why isn't the brat answering?"

Jacinta got up off his lap with a concerned air. "I'll go upstairs and look, you check outside."

Theo didn't need to be told again; a gnawing in his gut said something wasn't right. Missy never passed up an opportunity to yell back at one of her brothers when they screeched at her in annoyance. He tried to brush the feeling aside, to assure himself she was merely out of earshot getting into some mischief that _he'd_ ultimately be blamed for. It almost worked, he stomped down the porch steps muttering to himself how tired he was of her shenanigans when he pulled up short with a gasp.

"Hey, kid, what's with you?" grinned Dolph, thumping him on the back. "Scared you, did I? You should be aware of your surroundings, be quicker on the draw."

Theo peered blankly at Dolph for a moment before snapping out of it. "I can't talk right now, I need to look for Missy."

"Is your dad home? I haven't been to visit in a while, I thought—"

"Dolph, I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude. Mum and Dad aren't here and we can't find Missy. I'm headed out back to search." He trotted round the house with the older man on his heels.

Out back the yard fell off sharply into a steep hill leading into a patch of wood. Dolph took the left flank, Theo the right as they picked their way down the slope hoping for a glimpse of Missy's shiny dark curls while they repeatedly called her name. By the time they trudged up the hill once more, Jacinta was waiting for them.

"I looked everywhere, even in the attic and basement; she's not here," said the young lady. She fidgeted nervously. Papa or Daddy would know what to do, they'd…suddenly she took out her wand, balanced it on her palm, and commanded, "Point me Missy Nott."

The wand twirled around 180 degrees. Dolph and Nott exchanged knowing looks.

"She must have sneaked off to that small town a couple miles in that direction," Theo explained to Jacinta, the only one not familiar with the area, never having actually lived there. He thought he ought to feel better with that knowledge, so why didn't he? She was a little girl, no one would harm a child, would they? But it was, after all, a Muggle town—no telling what they might do, especially if Missy got frightened and did accidental magic.

Without a word the three started off on the bearing the wand indicated, each lost in their own meditations, afraid to express their misgivings lest they cause the others to lose heart. Every so often one of them utilized the 'Point me' charm to make sure the girl hadn't wandered off course on a new path, and they tramped along in silence.

At last they crested a tall, craggy hill overlooking a picturesque village nestled among the hills like a baby cradled in its mother's arms. They scooted down along a well worn path that zigzagged mercilessly all the way to the bottom, preventing a misstep from sending an unwary traveler pitching headlong to his doom. Once at the bottom, they split up to canvass the town.

Dolph hadn't gone more than a block when he passed a quaint antique shop at a near run. A tottering old woman with cropped white hair was pulling something out of the window display…a rag doll. He halted in his tracks, almost falling forward onto his face, then took one large pace back. Gawking unabashedly through the window, he watched her hand the item to a little girl who smiled cheerily up at her. Missy hugged the doll to her chest, then held it out to pick at its yarn eyes and mouth while prattling on to the woman.

Taking a deep breath and pushing down his irritation not only at having been worried, but at being worried for nothing, he gripped the doorknob and barged in. "Excuse me, is this party for ladies only?"

"Uncle Dolph!" squealed Missy delightedly, rushing over to him. "Look, Mrs. Hurley let me play with her dolly!"

Bending down to scoop up the child, Dolph smiled and nodded at the proprietor. "I'm sorry if she's been pestering you."

"Not a'tall. A sweet lass she is, tellin' me how wicked her big brother is." She winked and petted Missy's hair. "I've made Theo's acquaintance, he's a fine laddie."

"Yes, he is," agreed Dolph. "Missy, give back the toy, we have to go home. Now," he added firmly when she began to whine.

She flung the doll on the floor in a petulant fit. "Theo never lets me do _anything_ and now you're just like him!"

Dolph gave her a swift shake that startled her not for its intensity but for the fact that he'd done it at all. "You'd best behave, young lady. Everyone's already upset at you for running off."  
Mrs. Hurley had picked up the rag doll and was replacing it in the window. "Run off, did she? Missy, dear, ye canna be scarin' your family like that. Next time, ye'll bring yer Mummy or brother with ye, aye?"

The girl, lips pursed in a pout, jerked her head once in agreement, then Dolph thanked the woman and hurried out. Across the street, headed in their direction, Theo saw his sister alive and well and he nearly crumbled with relief.

To show his gratitude as any good brother who'd been terrified out of his wits because of his sister, he stormed over to shriek in her face, "Dammit, Missy, what do you think you're doing?"

The child lurched forward, grabbing Dolph so tightly around the neck it cut off his air supply. "Uncle Dolph, Theo's gonna hit me!"

Dolph wormed his fingers behind the girl's arm, latched on and pried her off his windpipe; he sucked in deep breaths while glaring warnings at the boy. "No, he's not. Let's find Jacinta and go back to the house."

Theo considered briefly taking out his wand and surreptitiously shooting a red spark into the air to alert the young woman. He discounted it immediately. The Muggles would see it and have too many questions. Instead he contented himself with grumbling, "I should spank you, brat."

"You're not allowed," taunted Missy, sticking her tongue out at him.

Dolph set Missy on the ground in front of him, glowering from one Nott spawn to the other. How could two such winsome children be so blasted annoying? "When I tell your old man what happened, you're both in for it." He jabbed a finger at Theo. "_You_ for not watching your sister, and _you_," he jerked the finger to Missy, "for running away."

Theo's stomach lodged in his throat on its way to his mouth. Dad would kick his ass ten ways from Sunday for not accomplishing the one task he'd set for him, babysitting his sister—and for endangering the nightmarish little rugrat besides! "Don't tell on us, please, Dolph! We'll even be nice to each other, won't we, Missy?"

The girl nodded fervently, teeth bared in a patently fake smile. She minced over to Theo, whose false smile rivaled her own. The siblings awkwardly embraced each other with Theo kneeling down to press his cheek to the girl's. Two sets of beautiful brown eyes blinked up at Wendolph in supplication.

Dolph let out a low chuckle. How could he stay mad at those pitiful faces? "Alright, I won't tell. But if it happens again, you'll answer to _me_." He truthfully had no clue what he'd do to the pair if it came right down to it…but then again, neither did they. Fear of the unknown could be a very powerful ally.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Fidelia Zabini Nott stepped into the floo of a tavern on the coast of France, with Lucius by her side. A pinch of floo powder later, they walked out into a neat but dusty cottage on the outskirts of a wizarding village situated only a few dozen kilometers from Rome. A wave of her wand cleaned the soot off both herself and Lucius. Come to think of it, that was one thing Lucius had always liked about her—she was as obsessed with appearing pristine in public as he was!

"As you know, this is where the authorities in Britain think I'm living with my children," she said offhandedly, motioning toward the interior of the home.

"That's not precisely correct," Lucius countered as he dragged a finger along the mantle and brought it away coated in dust. He brushed it off, grimacing. "They only believe you are in Italy; the location is unknown."

Fidelia shrugged, turning back to the fireplace. Lucius loved to nitpick, and it really wasn't worth arguing over. And anyway, he was right. She aimed her wand at the floo and intoned, "_Reverso carminem sanguis."_

There. Now Udie and Bayly would be able to get through. Previously she'd blocked the floo with a ward passable only by herself and those related by blood…unless, as in the case of Malfoy, accompanied by Zabini blood. A minute later, the floo sprang to life and spit out Nott and Bayly together.

Lucius gave them a few moments to get their bearings before announcing, "We'll be apparating to Rome together, to the flat Bayly and Gloria were staying at. From there he will lead us to the café where our search begins."

"I thought you were going to fetch Snape," interrupted Nott.

"I was unable to find him. We'll make do," replied Lucius confidently. Severus had been his _first_ choice, of course, but all things considered Nott and his wife were the _better_ choice. Maybe it was a good thing Severus was hiding away in Paris. "As I recall, Nott, you can be quite persuasive in your own right."

Udo snickered at the quasi-compliment. As a Death Eater he had killed more than once, though he didn't like doing it; torture of deserving individuals, on the other hand, didn't make him bat an eye. He was not entirely a fool despite what many thought of him, he knew from the outset why Lucius had brought him along: he was here as a strongarm. Had Gloria died instead of recovering, Lucius would have expected him to dispose of the thugs' bodies at the very least, if not outright asking him to murder them. And Nott would have done it because he had a beloved wife and children of his own, he understood the depth of love Bayly had for Gloria and the need to rid society of vermin who prey on the innocents…and because he didn't want to see the boy Bayly become a murderer. He was so young, so promising, and it would destroy him.

"Getting back to the agenda," Lucius said with a pointed look at Nott, "Bayly, what is your role?"

"When we get close to the café, I shield myself with a disillusion charm so I can hover unseen and check out faces," responded Bayly as if he'd studied a text and was regurgitating the answer. "If I see them, I tell you or Mr. Nott."

"Perfect. Fidelia, what do you do?"

"I talk to the patrons and people in the neighborhood, describe the two Muggles and say it's urgent I speak with them," recited the witch. Being the only one present who spoke Italian, her role was of the utmost importance.

"Excellent," crooned Lucius. "Nott, what is your job?"

"To guard my wife from a distance, and to assist in the capture," said Udo, rolling his eyes. Blimey, even the dark lord hadn't been this anal about making sure his people did it right! "What about you, Malfoy?"

Somehow expecting the question, Lucius sneered back, "I am the facilitator. I orchestrated the scheme, I am here to make sure things go smoothly and no one important is hurt. Can you honestly say you don't want me watching your back?"

"No," admitted Nott. Even if Lucius preferred not to get his hands dirty, he was good in a duel and, like it or not, he was very smart. His plans generally held up to the highest scrutiny.

"Then let's go."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Falito dropped another cigarette butt on the cobblestones and ground it under his heel. He and Piero had been scoping out all their usual haunts for likely candidates, to no avail. Ever since losing that young couple a few nights back, Piero had been super irritable and insufferable. Was it his fault the kid had carried off the girl? No! In fact, if Piero hadn't laughed in the boy's face they might have had a shot at 'befriending' him. Or not, the kid had seemed awfully pissed.

His eye caught a violet skirt swishing by, and that skirt came attached to a lovely, voluptuous lady—not the silly girls Piero always wanted to dope. Not that Falito complained when he got to have his way with the girls, but once in a while he'd like a real woman. He started to walk after her; Piero yanked him to a halt.

"_Cosa credi di fare?"_ (What do you think you're doing?) hissed the man with heavy black hair slick off his forehead like a mobster from the 1930s. It accentuated his unibrow.

Falito automatically ran his hand through his own locks, spiked in the latest fashion. He gestured toward the lady rapidly getting away. "_E una bella donna."_ (She's a beautiful woman.)

"_Ho visto di meglio."_ (I've seen better.) Piero nudged his companion and pointed at a dark haired man waiting at a table of the café. Purple skirt headed right for him and his eyes lit up in a smile. Piero had seen that look too often to mistake it, and he'd also seen a wedding band on the dame's finger, a ring she'd not bothered to remove for one obvious reason. "_Lui e suo marito."_ (He's her husband.)

Well, that complicated matters. That guy didn't look like the type he'd want to tangle with. Falito scowled at the other and snapped, "_Scusa!"_ (Sorry!)

Piero glanced nervously at his watch. He was supposed to meet with one of their customers and he hadn't even a nibble on the hook. He'd better go pacify the man, promise him a nubile body within the day, and then haul his ass back here to find one. They couldn't afford to miss out on the cash this idiot was willing to pay!

He slipped out the far end of the alley after informing his partner of his intentions. Falito, free of the oppressive demands of Piero, wandered out the front of the alley to lean against a building casually smoking another cigarette and eyeing that pretty brunette.

Bayly, who'd been sitting quietly beside Lucius while the older wizard sipped a cappuccino, froze. He felt like his chest would explode from lack of air. At last he gasped in a whisper, "Mr. Malfoy! That's one of them, the bloke to our left standing next to the building smoking!"

Lucius nodded so nonchalantly that to an observer it would seem he'd only ducked his head to pick up his cup. As he raised it to his lips he murmured, "You're certain?"

"Yes!" squeaked Bayly, his heart pounding with anticipation and anger.

"Stay here." Lucius got up slowly, unfolding his body and stretching his arms out to the sides. Nott watched closely, noting the way one finger on his left hand was pointing; his eyes shifted to the spot and he said something to Fidelia.

A moment later Falito leered once more as the hot babe left her table and sauntered by…only she wasn't going by, she was coming to _him_! He glanced to the table where she'd met her husband, but he was no longer there. This was perfect, he could have her all to himself!

Falito didn't object when Fidelia smiled at him and seductively invited him to move into the alley, or when she laid a hand on his chest and bunched his shirt in that delicate little fist. She looked all around, and suddenly he felt the oddest sensation of being squeezed from head to toe as if his body were being forced through a pipe. When it stopped, he found himself on his hands and knees retching, and he was no longer in the dirty alley, this was a wooden floor.

He raised his face in confusion. Had he been knocked unconscious? His head didn't hurt. The woman's husband was there in the background a few meters away…and a young man, barely more than a boy, he looked familiar—yes, the boy who'd carried off the girl! In Italian Falito asked, "What's going on?"

Fidelia motioned to the blond boy, who came to stand beside her. "This young man claims you drugged his wife."

In his best innocent act Falito shrugged, palms up, shaking his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The brunette rattled off some English that appeared to infuriate the boy. He shouted a stream of words back at the woman, who said in Italian, "He is sure you and your friend poisoned her."  
Perhaps this wasn't the brightest time to become a smartmouth, considering where he was and how he'd got there. Falito answered snidely directly at Bayly, "_Tu te lo ricordi di meglio di me."_

"He said you remember it better than he does," Fidelia translated. "I believe he's lying, Bayly, I trust you when you say he's the one."

Bayly advanced on the man, drew back his fist, and punched the Muggle as hard as he could. The man's head jerked back violently as his nose popped with a grisly cracking sound and blood spurted out. If his feet hadn't been rooted to the spot with a charm, he'd have tumbled backward. The lad thundered, "Do you remember now! Where's your friend?"

Falito's hands flew to his face. Swearing under his breath, gasping for air and grabbing at his shirttail to soak up the blood, he hunched over defensively. Fidelia translated Bayly's demand, her face as unmoved as the two men in the room.

"_Tornera presto,"_ he grunted through the cloth in front of his face.

"His comrade will be back soon—I assume in the alley where this one showed up, but let me make sure," said Fidelia. There was another brief exchange of Italian and the man nodded, then asked her a question that he seemed very keen on knowing the answer to.

Fidelia pointed casually at Nott. "_Lui lo spieghera meglio di quanto io possa fare."_ Then she whirled and strode out of the room dragging Bayly along by the arm and leaving behind her husband, who had taken out his wand.

"What did you say to him?" asked Bayly.

The witch smiled tightly. "He wanted to know what we'd do if his friend doesn't show up. I told him my husband could explain it better than me." She closed the door on a bloodcurdling scream. "We'd better get back, we don't want to miss the foul creature. Lucius can't detain him if he doesn't recognize him."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Both the Muggles had been bound magically side by side in front of the fireplace the group had come through nearly a day ago. A few rounds with Lucius and Udo taking turns finding creative ways to torture were all that was necessary to get the Muggles to break down and spill the whole story to Fidelia. The scum made a living drugging and kidnapping girls (and occasionally boys) for temporary sale to 'clients'. When the drugs wore off and the victims found themselves in an alley or a park, they rarely remembered anything of consequence and nothing could be proven. The pair had, in fact, doped Bayly's beer at the same time they spiked Gloria's lemonade, and had plotted to take the couple to a special 'party' where both genders had been requested. Upon hearing it, Bayly shuddered and swallowed a lump of bile; the filth had hoped to rape both of them! Images of what his father had done to him, the _scearu_ _peine_ curse, roared into his mind.

Lucius lowered his wand and called over to Bayly, "They're all yours. Do whatever you want."

Not needing any prodding, Bayly did what came naturally—he attacked with fists and feet with a savagery that belied his usual calm façade. He beat the Muggles to bloody pulps until his hands ached and he was too physically exhausted to go on and they were barely conscious. Then he slipped his wand between his fingers. It wavered in spite of his fury. "_Crucio_!"

Piero's body tightened then relaxed without so much as an outcry.

"You have to really mean it to use that curse," Nott remarked. "Gather your hatred—"

"Shut up, Nott!" Lucius barked. "We're not here to train the boy in torture techniques."

Bayly turned to Lucius, blinking back tears. "I want to hurt them, to make them suffer…I want them dead. But at the same time I don't want to be like my father."

Nott answered him with, "We knew Dolohov, kid. Believe me, you're nothing like him."

Lucius placed a comforting hand on Bayly's shoulder. He needed to understand it was alright to stop if he felt he'd done enough—or even to change course midstream. Gloria was alive, there was no necessity for the ultimate vengeance. Softly he uttered, "You and I have both been tortured, we know what it feels like. You're not a beast or a murderer, and Gloria doesn't want you to become one. There are ways to adequately punish them without killing them."

"Like what? They do this to a lot of people, not just to us! We can't let it go on."

"You have heard of the _obliterate_ curse?" The expression on Bayly's face said he had and that he knew it to be a horrific thing. "You learned at Durmstrang what it does."

Bayly nodded slowly. It was illegal, and very dangerous—if not performed exactly it could rebound on the spell caster. If done properly it erased all memories, all _everything_, reverting a person's mind to the stage of a newborn baby. "I wasn't taught how it's done."

"That doesn't surprise me," Lucius replied, grinning slyly. Not many knew the entire procedure, which was why it was so rarely utilized. This had been another perk he'd learned while still in Voldemort's good graces. "Slice open your hand with your wand—don't worry, I'll close it up for you."

Bayly muttered the spell to create a cut on his palm and waited for further directions. Blood began to drip onto the floor.

"Coat the end of your wand in the blood, then splash these two with the drops from your hand," Lucius went on.

The boy did as he was told, rolling his wand over his palm and covering the tip of it in his blood, then flicking his wrist at the two Muggles, spraying them with spatters of the red fluid. As promised, Lucius slid his wand over the wound, healing it completely.

"Now aim your wand at his left eye—Nott, hold open the bastard's eye. Say _oblitero totalus._ Now point at the right eye and say _decidere est fatus."_

Bayly followed the instructions to the letter, careful to avoid touching the wand to the struggling Muggle. The instant the last word left his lips, a yellow beam shot from the tip of his wand and knocked Piero right out of Nott's hands. He slumped forward, held up only by the invisible bonds as drool dribbled from his mouth onto the floor and he began to cry like a baby with an unholy deep voice.

"Well done!" Lucius praised, his grin becoming a full blown smile. He'd never actually seen this performed, had only known the curse and the theory behind it. Not that he'd have let Bayly use an untested spell—Voldemort had gleefully explained to him in gory detail the effects when he'd used it once on a Muggle. "Are you ready for the next one?"

Bayly clutched his wand tightly and nodded grimly. It was justice, he wasn't really hurting them. If anything he was doing them a favor: they'd have to grow up in their minds a second time, and maybe this time they'd turn out decent. It was better than they deserved.

He raised the wand and waited for Mr. Nott to pry open Falito's swollen eye.


	88. Snapshots Part I

Death Eater No More—Chapter Eighty-Eight (Snapshots Part I)

**September 14, 1999**

"Severus, you've been holding something back all afternoon, why don't you spit it out?" Lucius reclined back in his armchair swirling a glass of deep red wine in a goblet and fixing his friend with a curious stare that implied he already had a good idea of what the man would say.

"It sounds petty," Severus answered with a shrug, seated opposite Lucius beside the fireplace. Notably he had only water in his glass.

Lucius' lips twitched. "Has that ever stopped you?"

Snape narrowed his eyes a touch. "Smartass. Why did you wait to tell me about Gloria until after Bayly exacted retribution? You know I'd have come along, Bayly is my—" He halted in midsentence to avoid saying the word 'son'. Even though he cared deeply for the young man, it still felt awkward on his lips, particularly when he said it to anyone except Bayly himself. "My apprentice."

In a sarcastic drawl Lucius replied, "Perhaps I would have informed you if you'd been at the hotel you _told_ me you'd be at. Failing that, I expected to find you in Britain at the very least, not across the freaking pond!"

"Point taken," conceded Severus.

"Have you made any headway on a medicine for Eleanor?"

Snape shook his head. The hair hanging in silky curtains around his face waved gently. He and Aline had put their heads together and tossed out a range of ideas, had come up with a formula more for expediency than belief in its efficacy. "It's very complicated, there are many variables to consider. Aline began brewing the first trial today, but to be honest neither of us has confidence that it will work."

"Don't underestimate yourself, Severus," Lucius said in all earnestness. "If it weren't for your bulldog-like tenacity and formidable intellect, I wouldn't have three children."

It was Snape's turn to smirk. "Are you saying I'm smarter than you are?"

"No," Lucius returned snidely. "We are gifted in different ways."

"That's alright, you don't have to _say_ it," Severus crooned in an affected patronising tone, thoroughly enjoying the look on his best friend's face. He got up and held out a hand to Lucius, who shook it with much affection. "I must go, I promised Aline I'd relieve her soon, she's been working diligently on that concoction."

"Oh, before I forget, Narcissa has invited you both for dinner next week. I'm sure you'll receive a proper owled invitation within a day or two," said Lucius.

"I wouldn't miss it." Severus smiled and stepped into the fireplace, to come out in his office at Hogwarts.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Bayly, could I talk to you for a minute?" Aline called.

The young man turned back from the door. He'd restocked the shelves in the Potions lab and gathered the essays from the lone class he'd been given to teach, the second years. Aline had determined that it was the best level for him to begin, since the children had already learned the rules and procedures as firsties, yet were still young enough to look up to him as an older and wiser instructor.

"Yes, Professor Conn—I mean, Snape," he grinned. It seemed strange to refer to her that way, especially as there was another Professor Snape on the premises. Hence the children dubbing her Mistress Snape rather than Professor…it just made it easier.

"You can call me Aline when the students aren't around," she reminded him. She utterly doubted he'd ever come to address Severus by his first name, but one day he might surprise her. She beckoned him closer. "I noticed today in your class that one of the students described her Housemate as a _mudblood._"

Bayly's eyes met hers, wavered, then fell along with his guilty visage. "Well, it happens."

"You were standing right behind her, I know you heard it," Aline pressed. She didn't want to come off as accusatory or nagging; frankly, she worried that Bayly was afraid to take a strong stand lest the children dislike him. Personally, she'd found that it garnered more respect than antipathy. "You know that Severus has asked all the teachers to discourage such language."

He nodded curtly. He didn't want to deal with it, he didn't _care_ if someone used that word. He'd heard it all his life and thought nothing of it, what was the big deal? His father had been right, they were the spawn of filthy Muggles! Oh, how he hated Muggles…now he understood why his father loathed them so much!

"Bayly, what's going on?" asked Aline in a gentle, concerned tone. Obviously something was bothering him, he was generally so friendly and talkative. At the moment he'd pass for withdrawn and sullen. "You can tell me anything—or if you'd rather talk to Severus—"

"I'm fairly certain I know what the problem is, Aline," drawled Snape as he strolled up the aisle between the tables, robes billowing robustly. He pulled up short, gave her a brief peck on the lips, and whirled round with a final dramatic billow. He just loved doing that! "You go on home, sweetheart, you've had a long day. I'll be along shortly."

"The potion isn't finished," she objected weakly.

"I'll worry about it for the both of us," he assured her in a calming deep tone. He gave her hand a squeeze. "I need to talk to Bayly."

Aline nodded, kissed his cheek, and went to her desk to gather up the essays she had yet to grade. "I'll see you tomorrow, Bayly. Give Gloria my best."

"Yes, ma'am, I will," he responded automatically. He almost wished he could ask her to stay, he didn't like that odd glint in her husband's eye. "Have a good night."

As Aline headed into the corridor she said over her shoulder, "Don't forget to add the agrimony."

Severus waited several seconds, time for Aline to get far down the hall and for Bayly to begin to sweat wondering what the Headmaster was going to say. Then he rounded on the lad, all pretense dropped, eyes black fathomless orbs. "I overheard your conversation with my wife. I know why you didn't rebuke your student."

Startled, panicked pause. That couldn't be, he hadn't spoken to anyone except Gloria about it! "Why's that?"

"Don't play games with me. Do you honestly believe I haven't delved into your mind over the last two weeks, Mr. Young?" Severus inquired. He couldn't be certain whether the hurt expression on the boy's face was from having his privacy invaded or because he'd called him 'Mr. Young'. He tended to think it was the latter; it had been a long time since he'd started using 'Bayly' instead of his surname. "You've been behaving differently, I've been concerned. Even Gloria is appalled at your hostility toward Muggles since the incident."

"The _incident_?" echoed Young caustically. "How clinical. Gloria could have died!"

"But she didn't. Vengeance was served on the perpetrators. Why condemn all Muggles for the actions of two?"

Bayly's gaze drifted past Snape to the table where the potion was merrily bubbling away. Blue sparks spit out at random intervals. "Is it supposed to do that?"

Severus cast a casual glance over his shoulder then turned back to Bayly. "No."

The liquid began to heave and pop. "Shouldn't you fix—"

"I don't care about the bloody potion!"

Horror stricken, Bayly merely gaped, words eluding him. His mentor, the man he idolized, never yelled at him…well, aside from the time when he'd hexed that kid last year, which was long before they'd got to know each other. And Snape not caring about one of his potions? It was like hearing the sky wasn't blue anymore, it didn't compute.

Lowering his tone, Severus went on, "I care about what is happening to you. You're too young to allow your mind to be twisted by hatred."

"I don't know what you mean," Bayly insisted doggedly. "Your wife will be upset about ruining her work."

Snape took one step backward, whirled around, and with one violent swipe of his arm the entire contents of the table were sent crashing to the floor. The flame under the cauldron was extinguished; the pale green liquid mixture splashed the tables and surrounding areas and continued to ooze from the overturned cauldron. "I don't want to hear another word about it!"

Oh, Merlin, he'd done it now. He'd pushed Snape too far! That was what he got for not reading the signs, why didn't he pay more attention to the warning signs? At first stunned into immobility, force of habit kicked in and Bayly dropped to his knees, wand out. "I-I'm sorry, sir. I'll clean it up."

"Leave it."

Bayly peered up at the other wizard questioningly. Slowly he got to his feet, ducking his head as if preparing to be struck. It would be merited, after all, for being a pain in the arse to the one man he respected more than any other, who took the time to train him to become a Potions master in his own right, and how did he repay him? By annoying him to distraction!

In his habitual blank stare, Severus took in the meek posture Bayly had assumed, the posture Dolohov had created in him, and fury shot through his veins. He shoved it down as he'd become so adept at doing over the years. "If I thought it would knock some sense into you, perhaps I would clout you a time or two. As that is not the case, we are going to have a discussion, and you are not going to evade me or lie to me." It was not a question.

Bayly's head bobbed in acknowledgement. He couldn't lie if he wanted to, not to a skilled Legilimens who'd already read him enough to see how those wretched Muggle scum had colored his outlook on all Muggles.

"My father was a Muggle," Severus stated quietly. "Did you know that?"

"I'd heard," Bayly murmured in reply. "From what you told me of him, he was a bloody bastard. You're lucky to be free of him."

Lips drawing into a tight line, Snape answered, "I loved him, Bayly. As far as he was from perfect, he loved me in return. Regardless, it makes me half Muggle. Does that disgust you?"

Taken aback at the notion of reviling his mentor, his surrogate father, Bayly sputtered, "I don't think of you like that, you're a powerful wizard." He sounded remarkably like Lucius to the professor. Purebloods!

"And what of Miss Granger, a Muggleborn? Do you hate her and her parents?"

This wasn't fair, why was Snape bringing up one of his favorite teachers, the woman Viktor wanted to marry? "Well no, sir. Why would I?"

"I thought you despised all Muggles—and by extension, Muggleborns."

Bayly hesitated. Until now he hadn't thought of it in personal terms, he'd been too busy railing in his mind at the 'enemy', the ones who'd come close to taking his beloved wife from him. But they weren't all the same, were they? Not any more than all wizards were the same, his father being a prominent example. Heaving a sigh, he dropped onto a stool beside the table. It was so much harder to detest people based on a faulty principle that made exceptions for those with familiar faces.

"Bayly, the dark lord saw my animosity and thirst for revenge on those who persecuted me, he permitted me to become a Death Eater because of the malevolence I bore in my soul. I have regretted that every day of my life. Is that the part of me you wish to imitate?"

Bayly shook his head mutely.

"Then let it go."

"How? What makes you think I can?" exclaimed the young man.

"Because you're good!" Severus growled, slamming an impatient hand on the table for emphasis. "You're not like me; inside you're good and decent and kind. Stay that way."

There was a protracted silence. At last Bayly lifted his eyes to Snape's. In a hushed voice he responded, "If I'm really those things you said, then I am very much like you. When are you going to recognize it in yourself?"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

**November 5, 1999**

When Wallace Marshal peeked through the back window of Gissell's Veterinary Clinic, he couldn't believe his eyes. He blinked several times, shook his head, and looked again. unless he'd taken complete leave of his senses—and some might argue that had occurred years ago—that was Wendolph Goodman in the back room giving a buzz cut to a toy poodle!

He rapped on the window. Dolph turned, made out the mocking face mere metres away, and affected such an expression of mortification it sent Marshal into hysterics. He was still clutching his stomach, doubled over with laughter when Dolph wrenched open the door and hauled him inside.

"What're you doing sneaking around here?" demanded Wendolph, clippers in hand. They were far less menacing than the wand he'd prefer to have right now. Hastily he tossed them onto the table beside the dog, which had begun to yap as he shushed futilely at it.

"I _was_ looking for Rabby, but what I found was so much better." Wallace chortled so hard he snorted. He resumed howling uncontrollably for a full minute while Dolph pondered the best way to kill him and dispose of his body. At last, worn out from his merriment, he wiped at the tears in his eyes. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"Keep it up and you won't see tomorrow," snarled Dolph. He picked up a brush to fluff the tufts of fur ringing the animal's paws and tail.

"Seriously, Dolph, what's happened to you? You used to be a fearsome wizard, now you're a dog groomer?" Wallace crossed his arms and leaned on the doorframe.

Out of habit Dolph glanced about cautiously. Unless the animals learned to speak, no one was going to repeat his words. "I also used to be in Azkaban for fourteen years! And for what? Doing the bidding of a halfblood lunatic! I did a lot of reprehensible things, and as far as I'm concerned I paid for every bit of it in prison. But Rabby says we have to try to make up for what we did by becoming useful, productive citizens."

"So you're just going along with whatever he says?"

"No, I'm going along with it because he's right!" Dolph barked. Off to his left, rows of cages lined the wall, many housing a cat or a dog or even a rabbit inside. He pointed to the cages. "I feed these creatures, I pet them and play with them while they're here because their owners are away, or because they're sick or hurt. They need me, they rely on me. I make them happy, and that's a good feeling—a hell of a lot better feeling than causing someone pain. So shut the f—k up!"

Marshal rolled his eyes. "Whatever. So what's Rab doing now that you took over his job?"

"He got promoted," said Dolph with evident pride. "He assists the veterinarian with medicines and operations and such. He's a natural at it, he said he'd like to become a vet himself one day, maybe run his own clinic."

Marshal was only half listening. He was busy gawking through the tiny window of the door leading into the reception area. "Who's that bird at the desk, the pretty number with black hair and big b—"

"That's Candice," interrupted Dolph, walking over to shove him aside so he could take a look. "She's always chatting up Rabby, I think she fancies him."

"And he's not asking her out _why_?" asked Marshal. "She _is_ a witch?"

"Of course she is, moron," Dolph retorted. "Rabby's kind of timid with the ladies, give him time."

"Uh, I don't think we need to," Marshal said, his face pressed up to the glass once more. "Candice just grabbed your brother's arse, he turned around, and she jumped him. They're snogging right there in the office, it's embarrassing!" Notably he didn't look away.

Dolph pushed him aside again, verified what Marshal had said, and yanked open the door. The couple flew apart as if by a spell, their faces white with dismay.

"Oh, it's you, Dolph," Rab panted with obvious relief. His heart slowed down to a more normal rhythm. Blushing like a schoolboy, he sidled up to his older brother. "It's not what it looks like."

"It looks like you're hot for her and she's hot for you," Dolph replied drolly, eyebrows raised.

Rab grinned shyly. He'd never been a lothario, it felt weird to get caught even by his brother. "Alright, it is what it looks like."

Dolph smiled and gave him a hearty slap on the back. In all his life even before going to Azkaban, he couldn't recall seeing his little brother with a woman. Not to say he'd never been, but if so he never bragged about it. Even so, a friendly warning was in order. "Rab, it's none of my business if you're shagging Candice—"

"I'm not, we only kissed."

"—but for heaven's sake don't do it in the reception area! You want to get sacked? If you like her, ask her on a date."

"I did!" Jorab proclaimed excitedly, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "We're going to dinner after work tonight. Will you watch Firebolt for me?"

The little orange ball of fur had morphed to a half grown ball of fur that followed Rabby around as if he were lord and master of the realm. She rarely deigned to give Dolph so much as a good rub on the ankles with her cheeks; for some reason it bothered him. It wasn't that he particularly wanted the creature to fawn over him….but to be ignored by a mere _cat_—well, it was downright insulting! "Yeah, sure. Your cat will be fine."

"Thanks, Dolph. Hey—why is Marshal in there with the hair clippers?"

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**December 11, 1999**

The excitement of the morning had died down, the doctor and well wishers had finally gone home, and Narcissa and Lucius lay side by side on their enormous bed cradling their newborn daughter between them, stroking the blond down on her pale skull, marveling over the perfection of her features and her tiny limbs.

"She's exquisite, my love, like you," Lucius whispered over the baby's head. The child stirred, smacked her lips, and snuggled against Narcissa's breast with a sigh.

"She has your eyes, sweetheart," Narcissa countered. "And if the pattern holds true she'll have your hair, too."

Lucius gazed dreamily at his precious new infant. He offered a finger to her by caressing her hand and she gripped onto his digit with a strength that belied her size. "Now I understand what Nott means when he calls Missy his little princess. After three boys, he was especially grateful for a girl. We've only two boys, but I truly was hoping for a girl this time."

"As usual, Mr. Malfoy, you got your wish," Narcissa smiled. Despite being exhausted, she felt incredibly content. The labor had been short, albeit painful, and the baby had exited her womb with none of the drama of Ladon's birth, with Dr. Livingston there to attend to her. All in all, she couldn't have asked for it to go better.

Lucius lifted himself up to stretch over enough to kiss his wife for the fiftieth time that day. "People are going to keep asking us for a name to attach to our bundle of joy. Any ideas?"

Narcissa pursed her lips, looked up thoughtfully, then she gave a wicked smile. "Remember when Draco was born, how Bellatrix wanted us to name him after her? I said maybe when we had a girl…well, we have a girl." She fixed her husband with an expectant stare.

"B-Bella?" Lucius stammered through a throat clogged with indignation. "You want me to name my beautiful, extraordinary angel after that maniac? My God, Narcissa, aside from a complete lack of moral compass and several cards from the deck, your sister was wholly bereft of fashion sense! And don't even get me started on her hair!"

"You're worried over how our daughter is going to _dress_?" Narcissa exclaimed, laughing.

"Among other things," sulked Lucius. It hadn't come out precisely as he had intended. "I'm tired, it's been a long day. Nonetheless, I will not permit it, Narcissa."

Alright, it had gone far enough, she didn't want to give the poor wizard a stroke. Narcissa reached over to caress Lucius' stubbly cheek. "It was a joke, honey. I wouldn't name my daughter for Bella, not after all the terrible things she did. I have been thinking of a name. What do you think of Khala? Dimitar Tanassov told me it was Bulgarian for 'dragon'."

Lucius' eyes lit up and he began to chuckle softly. How well his wife knew him and his penchant for dragon names for his brood! "I think it is a name befitting a Malfoy. Khala Malfoy…very nice."

He put out a hand and called an _accio_ command. The top drawer of his dresser slid open and a framed photo soared across the room into his hand. For what seemed a very long time he gazed at the picture of himself as a teenager lying on the sofa, fast asleep. On his chest, sucking on a lock of his hair, slept his baby niece Niki, his sister Aphrodite's daughter. How he had loved that little rugrat!

He and Narcissa had given Draco the middle name of Regulus to honor the lad who had died; they'd named Ladon for his grandfather Abraxas, also to honor a deceased relative. It seemed only right, then, to honor this tyke who'd owned a piece of Lucius' heart for decades.

"Narcissa, would you be agreeable to the middle name of Nicole?"

The witch took the photo from his hand and stared at it as tears welled in her eyes. "I wouldn't have it any other way, my love. Khala Nicole Malfoy it is."

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**March 24, 2000**

Six months had passed with no success in developing a remedy to shrink or eliminate Eleanor's tumor, and Severus was at his wit's end. As if being Headmaster, Dark Arts professor, and husband to a very passionate woman weren't enough to exhaust any wizard, his beloved wife was four months into a difficult pregnancy. Between exhorting the witch to abide by Dr. Livingston's instructions—i.e., to rest between classes, not to overextend herself—and helping to brew various potions for her persistent nausea, he had little time to even think about Mrs. Conn.

He'd managed to escape the bedlam for the afternoon…well, truth be told, a hormone-riddled Aline had strongly suggested he exit the premises if he wished to retain a favorite part of his anatomy. All he'd said was he liked the way she looked pudgy from pregnancy! He shook his head; some people were so touchy!

Snape stood on the front porch at the Prince estate debating where to go. He had his fill of Hogwarts, he really wasn't up for barging in on the Malfoys without notice when his new goddaughter probably kept them up all night, and Regulus had mentioned something about going to visit Sirius. He'd rather crush his fingers one by one with a spiked mallet than to buddy up to that prat Sirius! All at once his eyes lit up with a spark of excitement; this would be the perfect opportunity to search the secret room for any help it might provide in finding a cure for Mrs. Conn.

He apparated to the old castle ruins where Voldemort had based their headquarters for so long. To the casual observer the crumbling walls, the chilly stillness of the air held a kind of quaint charm reserved for ancient buildings with checkered histories. To Severus it held memories of torture and death, memories he shifted to the back of his mind as easily as rifling through a file cabinet to stash a document in the appropriate folder. Those days were over, done, and he wasn't going to waste any more time lamenting what had been.

He headed through the collapsed arch to the interior, which still bore the remnants of the dark lord's remodeling, and walked straight to the entrance to Voldemort's secret room. All the wards had long since been broken, save the one that automatically reinstated itself upon departure of any occupants. There was no help for it, if he wanted in he'd need to follow protocol. He slid the ever-present, razor sharp knife from the sheath in his boot, sliced open the palm of his hand, and smeared his blood across the wall.

As the doorway magically opened, Severus was busy sealing the wound with his wand. He stepped into the chamber and paused. Nothing had changed, no one had been here since they'd opened the room all that time ago in search of a way to save Narcissa from the Veil. The two shelves loaded with books were as dusty as ever, the small table and comfortable armchair waiting to be utilized. He thought there'd been more jewelry; Marshal had likely helped himself on that first day. If any of it had been cursed, woe to the person who bought it from the pawnbroker!

Though he could have used his wand to clear the shelves, Severus felt more contentment in the physical activity. He knelt down and plucked a random book from its spot: _Moby Dick_. A sneer lifted the corner of his mouth. How apropos, Voldemort surely could identify with a man obsessed! One by one he picked through the volumes, sorting them on the floor into those that held no interest for him, and those he'd like to keep for his own library.

In the latter stack he'd piled _Into the Depths: Delving the Dark Arts, Forbidden Fruits_ (so well worn its cover was literally hanging by a few threads on the spine), _Beyond Death,_ and one tome with a battered leather cover so old its title was unreadable. There was no title page, but the very fact that it was written in old script Middle English was enough to arouse Snape's curiosity. He would have liked to keep the ancient book written by the Arch builders as well, only he'd given it to Lucius; even though the man was incapable of deciphering the language, Malfoy had more right to it on sentimental grounds….it had saved Narcissa.

By now Severus had to stand to clear off the top shelf, which was head high. He removed the books in clumps of three and four at a time and set them on the floor; when he finished he gave one last cursory glance to be sure he hadn't missed any. He stopped and his blood ran cold when his eye fell upon an irregularity in the wall. The stones didn't line up precisely as they did on the rest of the chamber, they were perhaps an inch off. Nothing major, most people wouldn't even notice…Snape wasn't most people. The dark lord had created this chamber, if he'd set a trap somehow…..

Aiming his wand and bracing for a repercussion, he intoned, "Reveal your secret."

To his dismay, a stone panel slid aside to expose a sort of vault no longer than the length of his hand. He cautiously peered inside to find a stack of four softbound books filmed in a fine layer of dust. Severus cast a few spells to assure himself that there were no curses attached, then he gingerly picked up the volume on top. It was an unadorned brown, untitled, so he opened it and read the first handwritten line:

_Oh, Salazar, sometimes I really hate being a Legilimens!_

Severus' breath caught in his throat. Was this what he thought it was? He read a few more lines, then leafed through quickly. With trembling hands he did the same with the other volumes in the vault. There was Lucius' name! And—ugh—Bella's. And there was his own, as plain as the prominent nose on his face. Merlin's ghost…he'd just discovered Voldemort's diaries, and these were far from blank!

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**April 29, 2000**

Draco had kissed Pansy when they were dating at Hogwarts; it hadn't been unpleasant, although he'd never been all that into it, either. He'd kissed Daphne a few times as well, but since their courtship had been brief and mutually unfulfilling, it hadn't exactly been fireworks and butterflies with her, either.

Astoria, on the other hand, was a whole new ballgame. He'd carried a mini-torch for the girl from the first time he went to the Greengrass house to pick up Daphne for a date and Astoria had answered the door in the most flattering violet dress that made her eyes shine like gorgeous purple marbles. It wasn't the most romantic thing he could imagine, the purple marbles thing, yet it was true. And when he finally kissed her for the first time, it was with a fervor unmatched in his experience. He'd never tired of it since.

So it would come as no great shock to anyone who knew Draco that he was down in the orchard with Astoria snogging away, the two of them clutching each other so tightly it would make Lucius himself blush. Suddenly Astoria pulled back with a dismayed squeal.

"Sorry, did I bite your tongue or something?" Draco asked, troubled by her distress. Still holding her by the arms, he tried to steer her back in his direction.

"There! Look!" Astoria hissed, pointing beyond the apple trees.

Draco turned around warily, half expecting to see his father tapping his foot and frowning—which he deemed would be a powerfully hypocritical act, considering the way the man continually pawed and smooched at Mother. When he saw what Astoria was freaking out over he lurched backward, arms outstretched, in front of her.

A huge, fat blue dragon was at the moment waddling up to the nearest tree, where it sniffed at the green buds of unripe apples. It nipped one into its mouth; its eyes grew round as the moon and its jaws appeared to pucker. The green apple flew like a projectile rocket out of its mouth, struck a tree trunk, ricocheted off, and landed in the grass a short distance from Draco and Astoria.

"Draco," Astoria whispered, hanging onto his hand as he moved slowly forward.

"Go get my father," he whispered back. "Tell him Xerxes is here."

The girl didn't need to be told twice. She popped out leaving Draco facing the daunting creature. He'd ridden this dragon, but did Xerxes remember him? He knew Father from all the times he'd gone to the vault, he _loved_ Father, for lack of a better word. What did he feel for Draco?

Without thinking the lad murmured, "Xerxes, do you know me?"

The dragon lifted his head at the sound of his name. He peered at Draco then made a whinnying noise in his throat. An instant later he was plunging through the orchard at what could be described as a trot if he were a horse, sniffing the air ahead of him and gurgling playfully. Draco cast a rueful glance at the broken branches Xerxes left in his wake. Perhaps he ought to have gone to meet the dragon on the lawn. Xerxes skidded to a halt in front of Draco, tearing up the ground with his talons. He gave another sniff before extending his snout to be petted, and cooed happily when the youth did so.

"Draco, is everything alright?" Lucius had his wand out and ready. Astoria peeked her head out from behind his back.

"Yes, Father, I'm fine. Your dragon has come to see you."

Already Lucius was speedily advancing on his 'pet', his grey eyes shining with excitement. He'd been so disconsolate at the thought that Xerxes had been gone for good the last time he left. "Xerxes, how are you? You certainly look well fed, your scales are shiny and clean."

For the briefest instant a pang of jealousy stabbed through his heart: what if some other human was tending to him? But no, Xerxes had known no other humans while chained in front of the Malfoy vault. Lucius stroked the creature's face as he laid his head on Xerxes' neck.

"He's got a clutch of dragons newly hatched, Father. He wants to show you his children," said Draco as he patted the animal's rump.

Both Astoria and Lucius sent the youth peculiar stares. Astoria ventured, "Draco, how could you know that?"

Draco hesitated, suddenly confused. How _had_ he known that? "I don't know. The images are in my mind."

Lucius continued to look intently at his son. Was it possible for a wizard to establish a telepathic connection to a dragon? He'd heard of many cases of witches and wizards communicating with cats or other familiars…why _not_ a dragon? It would explain in large part Draco's startling turnabout concerning Muggle baiting and also his sudden empathy with Ladon. If Draco somehow communed with Xerxes, felt the pain of his mistreatment, it all made perfect sense.

"Astoria, perhaps you should return to the manor," Lucius suggested in his that's-not-a-suggestion-it's-an-order nice voice. "Draco and I are going with Xerxes to see his babies."  
"Me?" asked Draco in bewilderment. "He wants you."

"And _you_ seem to understand what he wants, son," explained Lucius calmly. He flashed a handsome, genial Malfoy smile at Astoria. "I hope we won't be gone too long. Why don't you keep Narcissa company? She could use a hand with Ladon and Khala, and it will be good practice for when you and Draco get married and have children."

Flustered, Astoria flushed to the roots of her dark hair, though she seemed pleased at the notion. Draco joined her in turning red as a beet. "Father, that's between me and Astoria. You can't pressure her like that."

Lucius rolled his eyes. "I don't hear her objecting. Come along, son, we'd like to get back today. Astoria, if you'd be so kind as to inform my wife?" He crawled onto the squatting dragon's back, gesturing for Draco to hurry. If Narcissa got wind of what he was up to, she'd pitch a mighty fit. It was easier to simply apologize later, he really wanted to see those babies. Just before Xerxes took a running start and spread his wings, Lucius pondered: if Xerxes was 'his' dragon, what did that make the little ones?

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(**A/N**: I think it only fair to tell you that the next chapter of "Death Eater No More" will be the last. For those who may wonder why I've decided to end it so abruptly, I believe I owe you an explanation. While I have been thinking long and hard over when to end the story, the tipping point came when I admitted to myself that the joy I experience from writing it no longer silences the suffocating voices of critics.

Words affect us for the good or the bad, and I think some people don't take that to heart. I am not immune to the comments of others. I cherish the lovely reviews and well wishes from so many of you, they are truly what kept this story going for so long. Too many people underestimate the power of an encouraging word. Naturally I love to hear what you like, but _constructive_ criticism and expressing suggestions have always been welcome because I want my work to be top notch.

Conversely, brutally negative remarks are not constructive, they are extremely toxic and contribute to self doubt, they make me question why I endure laboring for many hours every week over each chapter. Over the course of this story I have weathered several such incidents, including pressure from perhaps well-meaning readers to alter my characters to conform to these readers' perceptions of who they should be. This quells creative desire because it implies a fundamental defect in my work rather than merely a difference of opinion.

In a nutshell, I have grown weary of trying to please the critics instead of myself.

I send out much appreciation and thanks to those of you who have been supportive, who have read DENM with an open mind and allowed me to entertain you in my own way. I have told the story I intended to tell from the start: Severus is finally happy, with the real life that he deserves. I hope you join me for the last chapter of this saga.)


	89. Snapshots Finale

Death Eater No More—Chapter 89 (Snapshots Finale)

**July 16, 2000**

The sudden rapping of an owl outside Lucius' study window caused him to start. He'd been so engrossed in revising a bill of sale on a piece of property that was bound to make him a tidy profit that he'd forgotten to even heed the time. From the pocket watch on his fob, it was after five o'clock, he'd need to finish up soon.

He flicked his wand at the window and the owl flew in, perched on his desk, and waited motionless. He detached the note from its leg, fully expecting it to be from a business associate, and leaned back in his armchair to read it.

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_ I don't think you know me, but I know you. I read about you in the __Daily Prophet__ sometimes. My name is Sonia Hawbecker, but everybody calls me Sunny. My sister will be going to Hogwarts this year, but I'm only eight. When I was two years old your father saved my life._

Lucius paused with a sucked-in breath and sat bolt upright in his chair. Abraxas had died just over seven years ago, and before he'd passed on he'd helped to heal a little golden haired girl. That name did sound familiar! His father and Dr. Cullin had advised him not to initiate contact with the family, so he'd heeded that request. Well, now he wasn't the one initiating contact, was he? His hands quaked ever so slightly, and for the life of him he didn't know why.

_If it was my daddy I'd miss him a lot, so I think you must, too. Only a really good person gives away their life force like that. Mum says the __conviare__ spell he used killed him and I shouldn't bother you, but I wanted to tell you a secret. I think he gave me some of his magic, too. I can do stuff other kids my age can't. I thought you'd like to know._

_Sincerely,_

_Sunny Hawbecker_

With a sad, wistful smile playing on his lips, Lucius read the letter over again. He folded it carefully and tucked it into the breast pocket of his robes behind the miniature replica of his lovely wife that Narcissa had given him so many years ago. Every so often he still liked to set it on a tabletop and watch it dance, listen to it talk.

He sat in contemplative silence for a time before pulling a slip of fresh parchment from the stack to his left, then reached forward for a quill and black ink. He hesitated as the quill entered the neck of the bottle; withdrawing it, he capped the ink and took a bottle of green from his drawer.

_Dear Sonia,_

He struck a line through it. With his wand he vanished the ink completely and began again.

_Dear Sunny,_

_ How delightful to hear from you! Your letter stirred old memories that are best never forgotten. I watched my father perform the spell that saved you. I want you to understand he did it willingly, it was a great honour to him to be given such an opportunity. The __conviare__ did not kill him, dragon pox did. Please do not blame yourself._

Lucius stopped, remembering the sight of Abraxas dying of leprosy and too ashamed for the world to know. He'd made his son promise never to tell a soul, not even Narcissa or Draco, and Lucius had kept that promise out of respect for his father. As far as the world was concerned, Abraxas Malfoy had died from dragon pox.

_You said you can do special magic. My father was quite gifted in the healing arts, among other things. Do you mind telling me what kind of magic you believe he has bestowed on you?_

_ I wish you all the best and look forward to hearing from you again._

Here Lucius paused once more, not sure how to sign the letter. He didn't actually know the girl, so 'Your friend' might sound kind of….strange. 'Sincerely', while appropriate, sounded so formal for a little girl. 'Best wishes'—well, he'd just wished her that in the line above, no need to be redundant. At last he took a breath and jotted down his name with a flourish.

_Lucius Malfoy_

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**October 10, 2000**

Severus and Aline apparated together into the back garden at Spinner's End where a row of tall bushes planted in a row years ago against the fence bordering the neighbor's yard precluded anyone seeing them. It had been a relaxing afternoon with just the two of them, a well deserved break from the pandemonium of parenthood, but as to be expected when a new mother is separated from her offspring, Aline had grown ever more anxious to get back.

Thanks to Severus' repeated admonitions concerning the quality of the neighborhood, Regulus had made a habit of keeping both the front and back doors locked; Severus undid the bolt with a simple _alohomora_. He ushered Aline in and followed after her, his lips reflexively parting at the sight of his six-week-old son nestled on Bayly's shoulder.

"Aidan, my big boy!" he crooned in a most un-Snapelike manner reserved for his immediate family.

"You're back early," Bayly remarked as he got up from the sofa to hand the tot into the outstretched arms of his father, after first pressing a kiss to the infant's forehead.

Aidan thrashed his tiny limbs and gurgled, obviously delighted to see his Papa. A shock of black hair stuck up all over his head, the full extent of his resemblance to the man. Big brown eyes exactly like Aline's gazed up adoringly at his sire.

Aline bent to plant a number of smooches on the baby's face, laughing along with the child's squeals of joy. She tweaked the miniature version of her own nose. "Were you good, sweetie?"

"He was perfect," Gloria answered. "I hope our babies will be that nice."

When Aline and Severus turned surprised, enthusiastic faces to her, Bayly interjected hastily, "She's not pregnant. She means when we do have kids."

"Hey, Severus! Hey, Aline!" Regulus exclaimed as he bounded into the room from the kitchen holding a bowl of popcorn in one hand and a precise replica of Aidan clutched to his chest. "I didn't hear you come in, Adriel was helping me with the snacks, weren't you, buddy?"

Adriel swiveled his head as far as it was humanly possible without invoking demonic activity. He caught sight of his parents and shrieked cheerily. Aline cooed back at him and walked over to Reg while Severus greeted the boy in his deep drawl that babies loved.

Gloria took the bowl from Reg and set it on the coffee table. Regulus held Adriel in front of him and made a face that sent the baby into gales of bubbly laughter. "I love this kid!" He plopped the child in Aline's waiting arms and watched him erupt in another round of hilarity at her kisses.

"How come you're back so soon? Is everything alright?" asked Gloria.

"Aline is a worrywart," answered Snape drolly. "I hope you boys don't take after your mother in that." He smirked at her and winked surreptitiously.

"You missed them, too," Aline shot back, cuddling Adriel against her breast. Addressing the child she cooed, "Mommy only wants what's best for you. Aren't you glad I didn't let Papa name you Aethelred?"

If Snape were capable of blushing, this would have reddened his face mightily. It had only been a _suggestion_ to honor the main builder of a magnificent work of magical architecture. In typical style he retorted, "Yes, dear, Apolonius is _so_ much more modern."

Aline puckered her brows in feigned irritation. "It was Apolonio, and _shut up_." She stuck her tongue out and he smiled. He still had it.

"Not to intrude on your argument or anything," Regulus announced with an eyeroll, "but you're just in time, we were going to watch a movie. It's supposed to be awesome!"

Bayly and Gloria nodded along eagerly. At first they'd both been a bit wary yet enthralled by this queer box with tiny people inside, yet no matter how hard they tried to pluck the people from the screen, it was fruitless. They'd come to thoroughly enjoy it as much as Reg did.

"What's playing?" To Severus' chagrin, Aline sank down on the sofa next to Bayly, eyes already glued to the screen, enraptured like the rest. Severus thought it cute, albeit a tad pathetic, to see his wife so enamored of the boob tube like the rest of the band of purebloods gawking at the silly box.

Severus mimicked Regulus' eyeroll and raised him a Slytherin sneer. "You think all movies are 'awesome', Reg. I'm astonished that your eyes haven't abandoned your skull in search of respite from that machine."

Regulus shrugged, unfazed. "Someone's got to teach your kids about the Muggle world, and if _you_ won't do it I guess it's up to us." He gestured, ironically, at the other purebloods who until a year ago hadn't known the first thing about Muggles.

Ignoring Regulus and Severus, whose friendship apparently hinged on snarky comments, Aline turned to Bayly. He'd taken over all the Potions classes at Hogwarts except the advanced 7th year class, which Severus was teaching. "How are classes going? Are the children behaving?"

"Yeah, they're great." A disbelieving snort from Severus earned him a death glower from Aline. She was getting pretty darn good at them. "When do you think you might come back?"

"I deeply appreciate all your hard work, Bayly," Aline began, her mind groping for the right thing to say. "Severus and I have discussed this….the thing is, I don't like being away from my babies, they're so young. I love teaching, I love the students, but I honestly can't see returning before Christmas vacation. I'm sorry to make you work so hard when you're still studying to become a Potions master. It isn't fair to you."

"I don't mind," Bayly chirped in reply, vastly brightened. He'd actually been afraid Aline planned to take back all her classes….he'd come to love teaching, he didn't want to give it up. Not all of it, anyway. "Take your time, Aidan and Adriel need you. And when you're ready, Gloria said she'd take care of the babies for you."

Gloria nodded and beamed at the gratitude on Aline's face. "They're so adorable, how could I not want to? By the way, how's your mum doing?"

"Better," Aline responded softly through the lump edging up her throat. The hormones from pregnancy hadn't all quieted down yet, she often found herself teary at the slightest provocation. For six months Eleanor had been taking the potion that Aline and Severus had collaborated on, and it was working! "Her last appointment with her doctor showed significant shrinkage of the tumor. We're all very pleased."

"I have to tell my dad—I bet they'll want to study that formula and use it for other people!" Gloria gushed elatedly.

Severus came sauntering in from the kitchen with Aidan perched on his hip, the baby's stubby legs gripping his slim figure and sucking on the middle fingers of his hand as he looked around inquisitively. "Reg, I thought you were making supper for us. The only thing I found in the kitchen is popcorn."

"Huh?" Regulus forced his gaze from the telly. "Didn't Kreacher leave anything?"

"Obviously not or I wouldn't be bringing it up, would I?"

"Well, you are early. Maybe he wasn't prepared. _Kreacher_!" he bellowed.

Within a second the hideous, stooped elf popped in. One might even suspect he'd been eagerly awaiting the summons. He bowed low to Regulus as he cast furtive glances at the crowd. "Yes, Good Master Regulus?"

"Could you bring us something to eat, please?" inquired Reg.

Grinning all over himself, which only served to make the poor daft elf all the more homely and slightly frightening, Kreacher bowed profusely. He loved Regulus at the worst of times, so the addition of 'please' on a request sent him into absolute ecstasy. "Whatever my beloved master wishes! Kreacher will be right back!" He popped out with a loud crack.

"You Brits rely too much on house elves," Aline observed, turning to Severus and Reg with a sly smile. "Not to say I wouldn't like one of my own."

Ah-ha, this was what Severus had been waiting for! At last Aline had come right out and admitted her desire instead of hiding behind the I-can-take-care-of-everything-myself spiel! Sure, he loved her independence and strong will, but enough already. Due to her innate compulsive tendencies, the house was always organized and spotless; however, taking care of newborn twins on top of it all had definitely caused a rift in her ability to get everything done to her perfectionist standards, and frankly it was driving Severus up the wall. Even though she was a delightful wife—most of the time, though to be fair he wasn't a prize all the time, either—and she was a wonderful mother, he sensed her slipping. And her cooking was…well, abysmal. That actually hadn't changed.

"You know, Aline, Winky has never gotten over being freed. I dare say she'd jump at the chance to become our family elf…"

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**December 20, 2001**

"Andromeda, just because you teach Muggle Studies at Hogwarts doesn't mean you have to bring the blasted articles into my home," Lucius griped as he watched Teddy on the floor playing with the oddest book he'd ever seen.

Blue and green material he'd heard referred to as 'plastic' encased a storybook; Teddy poked at the book with a wand on a cord and the object magically pronounced words for him. It never failed to fascinate and trouble Lucius how many things Muggles created that imitated magic. Clearly jealousy on their part.

"It's to help children learn to read," Andy replied. "What's wrong with that?"

"What's _wrong_ with it is that parents and tutors are supposed to teach their children," Lucius proclaimed, imperiously lifting a blond brow and crossing his arms as he pressed himself against the sofa back. "The human element is essential."

"Lucius, you said you weren't going to start," Narcissa cautioned in a near whisper next to his ear. He'd have been tempted to ignore it had she not also been digging her talon-like nails into the flesh of his thigh.

Before he had a chance to respond, Cinchona toddled in with Ladon and Khala, who'd scarcely awakened from their nap. She passed the tykes on to their parents, only the children had other ideas. There was company; there was a child like themselves, albeit older, and he was playing with something! Momentarily the two blond heads were bent over the peculiar device as they crouched down on their haunches on either side of Teddy.

As anyone who'd ever watched two or more small children interact could attest, it was only to be expected that fireworks would soon erupt. Within seconds there were cries of protest and shrieks of anger as the Malfoy progeny attempted to interfere with Teddy's fun, making grabs for the wand, grasping at the book. When Khala wrenched the object out from under his nose, all hell broke loose. Teddy snatched it on the other end and the two began a tug of war with Teddy and Khala shouting incoherently and Ladon simply watching the proceedings with interest. How funny, that kid's hair changing color!

Andromeda rushed over to intercede at the same instant Teddy ripped the book from the girl's tiny fists. He ran around behind his grandmother's chair leaving Khala to wail in fury. She started to give chase when she found herself lifted into her father's arms and carried to the sofa. Feeling a bit overlooked, Ladon drifted over with them.

"There, there, sweetheart, it's alright," Lucius soothed. He sat his daughter on his lap to stroke her downy white hair while glaring daggers at his sister-in-law. "That's a Muggle toy. Purebloods don't play with—"

"Want Mugg-o toy," Khala sniffed into his chest as she rubbed her nose on his formerly immaculate robes.

Lucius grimaced both for her answer and for the soiling of his clothing. This was all Andromeda's fault, she knew how he felt about Muggle inventions! The children would learn about them soon enough, they didn't need to sully their innocence so young. Ladon was not even three, Khala was barely two years old! Patiently—as patient as a Malfoy was capable of being—he said, "You don't understand, Khala. Muggle toys are bad, they're _evil_."

"Lucius!" exclaimed Andy to his triumphant stare.

Khala squirmed on his lap to turn a tearstained face up at him. From the day she was born she'd had this wizard wrapped around her finger, and she'd quickly learned to use that knowledge. "Want eve-o toy."

As siblings do, Ladon observed the pint-sized manipulation, he understood full well what his sister was up to. If there was any bounty to be had, he intended to get his share. He crowded up to Lucius' leg and latched on. "If she gets a evil toy, I wanna evil toy."

"You don't even know what that means!" Lucius exploded. So much for the Malfoy patience.

Together the tots broke into heartfelt squalls. They weren't accustomed to their father yelling at them. Ladon flung himself round and latched onto Narcissa, who scooped him up onto her lap. Khala kicked and fought her way off her father, also to land on Narcissa's lap.

Narcissa's demeanor could hardly be described as benevolent at the moment with two sobbing toddlers clinging to her. In a tightly clipped voice she stated, "Nicely done, Lucius, you've traumatized the children. Will you be leaving now or later to look for those presents for our darlings?"

He'd have offered to help calm the kids if Narcissa hadn't looked so…..what was the word….homicidal. "I suppose now," he drawled, standing and giving his robes a dignified brush. A swift _scourgify_ cleaned the snot from the front of his shirt. To Andy he hissed, "Thank you for poisoning my children's minds. Now I have to purchase those bloody trinkets!"

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Lucius shivered in the frigid, wet breeze outside London's Toys R Us. In his hurry to get out of the house he'd forgotten his cloak and cane, and a pack of wild dogs couldn't have dragged him back in there—not if he had to face Narcissa in her current mood. Memories of previous shopping expeditions flitted through his mind, and a shudder wholly unrelated to the cold racked his body. Already he knew this was not going to be pleasant.

Standing in the car park, he frowned up at the gaudy sign: leave it to Muggles to spell the name of their own shop incorrectly! Shaking his head and heaving a resigned sigh, he trudged forward cautiously lest one of these mechanical beasts roaming the lot run him down. His left foot suddenly sank down into a pothole disguised by the layer of water covering everything.

"Son of a f—king bitch!" he thundered as he yanked his drenched foot free of the puddle. A woman strapping her child into a carseat looked askance at him but he merely straightened his shoulders and returned a haughty glare as he marched on, one sodden foot squishing with each step.

As he had anticipated, the door automatically opened for him. Lucius drew aside in the vestibule between this set of doors and those going directly into the store. The moment no Muggles were traipsing in or out like cattle he whipped out his wand and performed a drying charm over his body. He secured the wand in his pocket, smoothed his hair, and took a deep breath. While he held not a miniscule of affection for Muggles or their way of dress, he was glad at the moment that his slate blue trousers and tunic were relatively inconspicuous. He was not in the mood to dodge their bovine stares or listen to their idiotic quips.

He stepped inside and his eyes grew two sizes. Hells bells, how was he ever going to find that ludicrous toy he was after? The place was enormous, he could be lost here for days, only to finally scratch his way out, a mere shadow of himself! Narcissa spoke of trauma, what did she think she was doing to him? And to top it all off, the place was crawling with Muggles like a roach infestation! For a split second he actually felt sorry for Muggleborns, wizards and witches deprived of a proper upbringing by these creatures.

Sighing once more, Lucius resisted the urge to shuffle to the nearest aisle; Malfoys do not shuffle, they pick up their feet and walk with pride. Swerving around a woman whose basket was filled to the brim with brightly painted boxes, he peered down the Muggle-choked aisle and suppressed a horrified gasp. Floor to ceiling of every imaginable doll confronted him. The thought that he should tell Nott about this place for Missy was swiftly crushed by common sense: letting a child in a store like this was asking for trouble, as evidenced by the multitudes of unleashed screaming brats whose grating voices rang through the air.

He took a pace backward right into a burly man who shoved him aside with a hard belly bump and continued on his merry way. Lucius spun into a panel of Barbies, knocking one of them onto the floor with a thump that barely registered with all the other noise going on. Fury leaped into his heart as his wand jumped into his hand.

"Mr. Malfoy!"

Lucius hesitated, mortified. No one he knew should be here! This would ruin the reputation he'd strived so hard to rebuild. Perhaps if he took off at a run he could escape before anyone had proof…but how to get past all those maggots blocking the aisle?

Too late, here came the intruder. Lucius slipped his wand away, to the relief of Harry Potter. Harry came to stand beside the other man with a puzzled expression. "Mr. Malfoy, I'm—well, _surprised_ would be inadequate to describe how I feel seeing you here."

"Oh, joy, I wasn't having enough excitement with the unwashed masses. Now I get to hobnob with an auror," drawled Lucius.

Potter hung on to the topic like a bulldog. "May I ask what on Earth you're doing here?"

Lucius debated internally whether to answer. He hadn't been arrested, he was under no obligation to reply; however, this was Harry bloody Potter, it was prudent to play nice. At last he stated, "I _have_ been to Muggle establishments in the past." How dare that little prig purse his lips and avert his eyes as if he didn't believe him! "And not as a Death Eater! That godson of yours has some ridiculous bookish toy that my children insist on having. It's turning our lives upside down."

"That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?" commented Harry. He received nothing except a blank stare from the other wizard. Thinking it best to get Malfoy out of the store with all expediency for the safety of the crowd, he offered, "I'll help you find it if you like. Come on."

"Which part of 'Oh, joy' did you not recognize as sarcasm?" Lucius retorted, yet he followed along after the boy wonder. The sooner he got that stupid toy, the sooner he could return to a normal life and try to block this episode from his mind.

They'd gone barely two aisles over when none other than Sirius Black poked his head out, caught sight of Harry, then noticed Lucius striding along with him. "Harry, what the hell is Malfoy doing here?"

"Always a pleasure to make your acquaintance, dog boy," Lucius returned snidely. Merlin's britches, was every auror in Britain here? Were it not for Narcissa's desire to have a relationship with her arrogant prat of a cousin, Lucius wouldn't deign to address him at all. "Did I miss a memo? Is this Bring an Auror to a Muggle Toy Shop Day?"

"He's looking for the Leapfrog pad I bought Teddy," Harry explained with a tilt of his head toward Lucius.

"What for?" asked Sirius to Harry as if Lucius weren't right in front of him.

"That would be none of your business," Lucius commented tightly. "Potter, shall we?"

Harry gave a little shrug and started off once more. Unable to resist a good dig at Black, Lucius collared a boy and a girl about the age of seven walking by and bent down to whisper, "Be careful of that man at the end of the aisle. He's a werewolf, he eats small children."

With that he straightened up and strolled off behind Harry, smirking at the uproar beginning behind him. The girl shrieked for her mummy as her brother delicately skirted the area staring both curiously and fearfully at Sirius. Wondering what the commotion was, Sirius came out to ask the wee girl what was wrong, sending her running through the store screaming that a werewolf was attacking her. Lucius' smirk morphed into a full blown smile.

"Here they are, Mr. Malfoy," said Harry, pointing halfway down another aisle. "The checkout counter is that way."

"Thank you, Pot—Harry."

As speedily as he could squeeze between the throngs of people, Lucius wended his way down the aisle, snapped up two of the wretched toys with a thinly veiled swear word under his breath, and fought his way back out. He practically sprinted for the checkout, trying to ignore the fact that he'd been touched and manhandled by a plethora of _them_. In time the ghastly memory would fade, he reassured himself.

He waited in the long queue impatiently tapping his foot. Did these Muggles have nothing better to do than converge on a store _he_ was currently patronizing? The only bright spot in the whole adventure was watching Sirius Black being paraded to the security desk at the front of the store while he professed his innocence. Now _that_ part Malfoy wanted to remember forever, to play it over and over in his mind, maybe even bring it up in conversation on holidays when the jerk was present. Finally something to smile about.

At last he set his boxes on the counter and reached into his pocket. His hand froze in place, his heart nearly stopped. This could _not_ be happening! Damn it all to Hades and back, he'd also forgotten to bring Muggle money!

The pimply faced cashier scanned the items, thrust them into a bag, and mumbled, "You want batteries wif 'at?"

Lucius looked up and scowled. "Batteries of what?" Were they expecting imminent attack?

"Batteries," the youth repeated, holding up a package of size D that had hung beside the register.

"Why, pray tell, would I want those?"

"Coz them toys don't run wifout 'em," rejoined the lad, daring to sneer. It was a pitiful attempt, really, when one considered the years of care and practice Lucius had put into his own sneer.

"Fine," Lucius snarled. He didn't have time for arguing with this moron…well, alright, he had time, he simply didn't care to spend it here. The ambiance was making him woozy. "I seem to have a slight currency problem. Do you take galleons?" He held out a coin for inspection.

The boy gawped at it and shook his head. "Ain't seen nuffin' like 'at."

An idea struck Lucius square in the head—or was it the annoying toddler behind him tossing his blocks? Whatever the case, Lucius leaned in slightly to query, "I've witnessed employees at similar establishments communicating via some sort of audio system…"

The boy continued to gawk vacantly, his jaw slackening at the unfamiliar words. If he'd had red hair, Lucius might have mistaken him for a Weasley.

"Page Harry Potter for me, he's got my money," ordered Malfoy in exasperation.

The teen understood that much; he picked up the microphone and called out for 'Arry Potter' to come to the checkout counter. Lucius chanced a look back along the winding queue of people behind him. He almost—almost—felt a twinge of guilt for holding up the line…no, not guilt. Embarrassment. They were all looking at him like a monkey in the zoo! _They_, who more closely resembled apes than he could ever begin to! When he saw a bemused Potter coming from the security area, all thoughts of the other consumers fled his mind.

"Mr. Malfoy, is everything alright?" asked Harry. He wore an expression to suggest he assumed trouble, likely a diatribe from the cashier on the horrors of this customer.

"No, everything is not—I seem to have forgotten to exchange my currency. Might you have change for five galleons?" Lucius held out the gold expectantly. The manner in which Potter had rushed him through the store made it plain he wanted Lucius out of the place without further disruption. Sure enough, Harry dug into his pocket, counted out a rough equivalent, and took the gold. "Thank you once again, Harry."

"Have a good day, Mr. Malfoy," Harry uttered. As he walked off, he glanced over his shoulder to see Lucius making haste for the exit as only a pureblood could, trying to look dignified while running. One catastrophe averted; now to convince the security guards that Sirius had not attacked a little girl!

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

**February 1, 2002**

"Harry, how lovely of you to bring Severus! It's been ages!" Molly Weasley barreled forward to embrace Snape before he could escape back into the floo. "How have you been, Severus?"

"I've been better," he growled. Did this woman lift weights on the sly? He could swear he felt a rib pop.

"Where are Aline and the children?" asked Arthur. "That's enough, dear, he's turning blue."

"Aline?" Severus echoed feebly, looking around. Where were they? How could they leave him alone to fend off the entire Weasley clan? "I…I thought she was here."

"We're having broom races," Harry chirped. Out of the blue he tossed a broomstick at Snape; it smacked him full in the face and fell to the floor.

"Now you see, that's why he never played Quidditch," Arthur said in a scolding tone to Harry. "He hasn't got the reflexes for it." Arthur picked up the broom and handed it to Snape, who accepted it wordlessly.

He wanted to say he'd show them reflexes in a duel to the death, only the house was empty. Outside he heard the cheering and shouts of the family. From the side window he saw Ginny, George, Harry, and Charlie zooming across the sky in a jagged line. Now was his chance to escape!

He whirled round into Molly and instinctively backed away. The woman was dangerous! "What are you doing in here alone? Come join the fun!" she coaxed. An astonishingly quick lunge forward and she grasped his hand.

"I'd—really—rather—not," Severus grunted as she dragged him toward the door. He clamped his free hand on the doorframe, squeezing for all he was worth. The wood squeaked, make a weak groaning sound, and a length of frame cracked off in his hand.

"Oh, don't worry about that, Arthur will fix it. Happens all the time," Molly smiled, waving it off.

She blithely hauled him out onto the front lawn where the entire clan were standing in a circle, along with that wretched Sirius Black…and Lupin. Severus wrinkled his brow, confused. That wasn't possible, he was dead—but then, Black had been dead, too. What if someone had found Life Water to use on him? Lord have mercy, another Marauder let loose!

Sirius made a motion strikingly similar to an obscene gesture. "Come on, Snivellus, don't be a wet blanket."

Without genuinely willing it, Severus found his hands reaching out to clasp Harry on one side and Black on the other. Perhaps he'd been _Imperiused_—yes, that would explain it!

All at once Black began to belt out in song, "Kumbaya, my Lord, kumbaya…"

The rest happily sang along, then stopped dead to stare at Severus. "Come on, Snape, we're all waiting on you," said Harry. All their eyes, their blank faces turned to him, welding him to the spot.

Why couldn't he just tell them to sod off? What was wrong with him? To his dismay, he opened his mouth and haltingly sang, "Kumbaya….my Lord…"

Severus woke up in a cold sweat, panting so hard he nearly hyperventilated. His eyes scanned the dark room of his own home, though it took a few moments to register. He was safe; it was a dream, just another horrible dream!

"Honey, what's wrong?" Aline rolled over to snuggle up next to him.

Finding his voice he rasped, "I had that hideous nightmare again."

"Poor baby," she commiserated, stroking the hair on his chest as he engulfed her in a powerful hug. His heart beating a mile a minute sounded like staccato drums to her ear. "I've been thinking maybe it's because you're under a lot of pressure. Jacinta is getting married to Theo next week, your job as Headmaster is a very public position in which you're expected to get along with people you don't have a great fondness for."

"I've been under far more pressure hundreds of times, Aline," he sighed, letting himself relax into her. "My life has been at stake more times than I can count."

True," she acknowledged. "But you thrive under that kind of pressure. Shielding your emotions is easy for you….it's harder for you to honestly try to be nice to people like Sirius Black and Harry Potter, since you had such a miserable history with them, and yet you feel like everyone is watching you."

"What are you, a Muggle psychiatrist now?' he intoned with a smirk.

"I'm merely saying it can be very stressful," she replied.

"That's putting it mildly," Severus growled. If he had to sing that infernal ditty one more time he was liable to _avada kedavra_ the lot of them and then himself!

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

**September 1, 2017**

Platform 9 ¾ was obscured by billowing steam from the Hogwarts Express gearing up for its yearly first-day run. Hordes of wizards and witches milled about, mostly in family groups, saying goodbyes and chatting with friends. Draco, bundled in a coat buttoned to his throat to ward off the chilly air, squeezed Astoria's hand. Understanding what he was feeling, she squeezed back.

"Our eldest is going away for the first time," she lamented softly, her hand on top of Scorpius' head fiddling with his white blond hair.

"Mother, you're messing it up," Scorpius grumbled, shaking his head and making it even more disheveled. He raked his hands through his mane.

"Scorpius, your mother will miss you," Draco admonished him. "Be kind to her."

Telltale grey Malfoy eyes pierced Astoria. "Sorry, Mother. But you still have Benedictus and Tea. They won't be going to Hogwarts for a few years."

Astoria pulled the boy into a tight embrace. "Father and I will write to you often."

"As will your grandparents," Draco added with a smile. As much as Astoria's parents loved their grandchildren, no one could top Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy in the child-spoiling category.

"Your Aunt Khala is a seventh-year, she'll watch over you," said Astoria, only to witness her son roll his eyes so like his Uncle Severus.

"Spy on me, you mean," Scorpius muttered.

"You won't need spying on if you're behaving," came a voice from the mist. Bayly stepped forward smiling, with Gloria and four children in tow. His oldest, a fifteen-year-old girl, poked a teasing finger at Scorpius' cheek.

"I'll be keeping an eye on you, too, pipsqueak," she smirked.

"Mother!" Scorpius protested. Then he seemed to notice Bayly's two sons, aged thirteen and twelve, and he greeted them warmly. At least he had friends already there, he wouldn't be alone with the female snoop patrol!

Gloria gave brief hugs all around. Her dark hair that she'd worn in a bob while at school on the Quidditch team had grown to drape softly over her shoulders, and it tickled Scorpius' cheek. "Bayly's going to ride the train with the children, so don't worry about Scorpius."

"We tried to talk him out of it," said the fifth year girl. "I mean, he's the Potions master at Hogwarts—you don't see Headmistress McGonagall on the train, do you?"

"The more you try to convince me, the surer I am that you're up to something," Bayly explained blandly, winking at his daughter.

"Oh, Daddy!" she exclaimed, unable to contain a smile.

"Viktor!" exclaimed Gloria at the same moment. Out of the mountains of steam the Bulgarian came strolling, his brooding countenance offset by a beaming smile.

"Gloria! Bayly!" He gave them each a fierce hug. "Hello, Draco. Astoria."

The Malfoys greeted him cordially, if not as one of the family. After all, they rarely saw the man, since he lived in Bulgaria with his wife and swarm of children, all of whom were bound for Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts—and all of whom, according to reports, were as skilled as their father on a broom. Their mother worked as a liaison between Britain and Bulgaria in the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic, which explained why Viktor was here now. Certainly it wasn't for Quidditch himself, those days were long gone.

Bayly shook hands with Draco and kissed Astoria on the cheek. "We'd best get going, I want to get my crew settled in. it's great to see you—and Scorpius, I look forward to class with you."

The Young family wandered off with Viktor, leaving the Malfoys alone once more. Draco turned his head to find his family the object of scrutiny by the Weasley clan, Potter, and Hermione. Not up for a show, he merely nodded curtly and turned away.

Sometimes he envied Severus and Aline, the way they no longer had to face certain unnamed persons or their progeny. When they'd quit Hogwarts a few years back to open their own shop specializing in exotic and difficult potions, he'd thought them batty. But they'd been following their dreams, they did a thriving business and were deliriously happy…maybe he ought to go back to work at his old passion, too…

He glanced again at the group around Potter. That boy, the one who looked like Harry, he was Scorpius' age. Despite old animosities, he hoped the boys could be civil, if not friends. Rivalries like the one between himself and Harry proved extremely destructive for all involved.

As he watched, Viktor sauntered over to Hermione and planted a kiss on her lips, then stood with his arm across her shoulders chatting with Harry and Ron, probably about Quidditch. Draco failed to see any other area of common interest they might share. A minute later, Viktor and Hermione waved as they walked away hand in hand.

Draco bent to kiss Scorpius on the top of his head, eliciting an embarrassed howl from the lad. "Go ahead and complain that it's not the Malfoy way, son. Just remember I love you. Have a good semester and we'll see you in December."

The End

(A/N: Thank you all for your kind words and for sticking with me here. I hope you enjoyed the ride, it was a long one! I need to take a break to clear my head and get some things done in real life, but don't think I have abandoned you. I want to come back and write "The Voldemort Diaries". It will include not only Voldemort, but also Severus, Lucius, etc. For those who'd like to be automatically notified by FFN when the next story comes out, all you have to do is put me on Author Alert with the button on the bottom of the page. See you there!)


	90. Chapter 90

Hello there! I am sending this notice for those who expressed interest in any original works I may write. Well, I have written a book that is now available through amazon dot com. It is called **We Were Nobles: Dach's Story**, and the author name is _Carol Notwolf._ You can read an excerpt from the e-book at that site, and I'd love it if you purchased it. Also, if you know anyone who may be interested, would you be so kind as to turn them on to the book? Thank you!

Also, I am hoping to begin a new story with Severus and Harry here on this site. If anyone has any ideas they'd like to see incorporated, let me know and I'll see what I can do.

Notwolf


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